#tried something a little different for this one and ended up with a joan of arc flavour on this one

[novankenn]

Freakshow (6)

/==- Chapters -==/

Junior walked around the corpse, and past Cinder, without another word. Cinder grit her teeth at the blatant show of disrespect, but she held her tongue. She needed information about IT, and she would get it before she made any move. Turning on her heels, she moved to follow. Junior said not a single word as he moved through the back halls of the club before reaching his private office. Stepping inside, he held the door open for Cinder. It was closed and lock as soon as she passed by him.

Junior: Have a seat.

Cinder stayed quite as she moved to the far side of the office and settled herself down onto the plush leather sofa. She made a show of crossing her legs as she leaned back and draped her arms across the back of the sofa. Junior ignored her posturing, walked over to his bar and poured himself a shot. He took a sip before turning to face cinder. He gently swirled the ice in his glass, crating a soft tinkling sound.

Junior: First off, no.

Cinder: No?

Junior: You can keep your hands off Jaune and Joan, they’re damaged enough. I won’t be letting you add to that.

Cinder: Why, I would…

Junior: Cut the bullshit. You might call the shots when it comes to me lending you my boys for your little dust shop games… but that’s where it ends. I have more than enough to make your life very difficult if you try and push.

Cinder: I see. Then why even bother discussing them with me? If they are so… untouchable.

Junior: To cut off any of your little schemes, and to give you fair warning not to mess with either of them. I’ll be honest, you scared the shit out of me… but now… you don’t even rate on the scary to me scale.

Cinder: Roman said something similar… so neither of you feel I am… dangerous?

Junior: No, you are dangerous, you’re just not scary.

Cinder: What’s the difference?

Junior: You’ve got a plan, and you’re willing to do whatever you need to for it’s benefit. That makes you dangerous.

Cinder: And Jaune and Joan… was it?

Junior: It is.

Junior takes a sip of his drink.

Junior: They don't have a plan. They’re not trying to accomplish something… they just exist.

Cinder: That doesn’t seem very scary… it seems more boring.

Junior: Boring is nice, and it means things are good when it concerns them… but they’re scary because they’re dangerous and don’t have a goal. You got a taste of that danger in the warehouse… you remember what happened?

Cinder: I wanted answers and I decided to get them…

Junior: And you ended up with your ass handed to you.

Cinder: I did not…

Junior: Don’t lie. We can watch the video feed if you want to jog your memory, but that is a prime example of why they are scary. Are you understanding where I’m coming from, or should I give you another example?

Cinder: Another example?

Junior: One of the twins insulted Jaune and Joan. What would you have done if it had been you that was insulted?

Cinder: I don’t…

Junior: Humor me.

Cinder: I would have impressed on them the need to not repeat such behavior, for their own safety.

Junior: And that is what most people would do, at least people like us. Jaune and Joan… they don’t do things like intimidation…

Cinder: They tried to kill her, did they?

Junior: They didn’t try anything. They nearly did kill her. First Jaune, and after getting an apology and a promise for a favor, Joan took her turn. The doc is still checking her out, as we speak.

Cinder: So they are unpredictable. 

Junior: No, they are borderline feral. They act like a normal human, but behind those eyes… for whatever reason when that semblance activated… their humanity broke.

Cinder: You seem to have more than passing control, of them.

Junior: That’s only because I hold all the keys to what they desire right now. 

Cinder: And what would that be?

Junior: Privacy, a quiet place to live and food; plus whatever little odds and ends that catch their attention. They have simple wants and needs, pretty bare-bones actually… though they are extremely protective over each other.

Cinder: So what happened, to create this… situation.

Junior: Jaune is a drop-out from Beacon, and was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He ended up caught in the crossfire when my boys went in heavy on a group making plays in our territory,

Cinder: I take it, his semblance activated.

Junior: It did, and Jaune became Joan for the first time… one of the crew we were taking out, grabbed her to use as a shield… and she killed him.

Junior snapped his fingers.

Junior: Just like that.

Cinder: I see.

Junior: Our target lost three guys to Joan, before in a panic she became Jaune.

Cinder: How many did he cost you?

Junior: Our target two more, and me four. We had to knock him out to get things under control. Like I said before, when that semblance activated, it broke something inside them. As you saw when you walked in…

Cinder: Joan seemed to be just a little sadistic.

Junior: She is, and that was just a small taste… she’ll play with someone for hours if we let her. I actually think she might get off on the smell of blood and piss.

Cinder: And Jaune, he’s not that same?

Junior: Jaune has no issue causing pain, and for Joan he’ll make someone suffer, but Jaune is more brutal… Joan may play with you, draw things out… but Jaune will just crush you.

Cinder: From what I saw, and heard, I assume their semblance manipulates Aura? Do you know how?

#Freakshow #rwby #jaune arc #female!jaune #split-personality? #ANOTHER Female!Jaune story? This author has issues... #cinder fall #roman torchwick

[toni-peperoni]

I am begging you to share more of your mechanic alex vision

Okay so: We know that Alex actually wanted to be a mechanic for Marc rather than a rider himself, but Marc pushed him to at least try.

And Alex subbed in in Moto3 for the first time in 2012 and then did the entire season of 2013 and for this we have to pretend it didn't go as well as it actually did, so he decided to stop, focus on school and pursue his dream of becoming a mechanic.

I'm not very familiar (at all) with the Spanish school system, but it would probably mean, he'd finish school in 2014 and after that find a university to study remotely at. Finishing the school in Spain had meant almost a year of barely seeing his brother and that just wasn't something either could or would choose (love my codependent babes), but it would also lead to Alex being a little less dependent, because he knows basic life can work without Marc there, though for Marc basic life was racing and Alex was still present at every European race if possible.

The public would of course know Alex as Marc's brother and very rarely bring up that he used to race too, but they would know them more in the way Carola is known as Pecco's sister rather than Luca is known as Vale's brother, if that makes sense?

He'd start his apprenticeship at a racing team shortly there after, spending his first year learning with the Moto3 bikes, but his talents didn't go unnoticed, so he was moved up to learn about the difference of the 250cm³ and 765cm³ engines.

He finished his apprenticeship there in 2017 having made some appearances in the Repsol Honda factory already, seeing as he also needs to learn about the 1000cm³ bikes after all. That meant he had lots of experience with racing and working under pressure already and without hesitation, he was signed as one of Marc's mechanics at the beginning of the 2018 season.

They won two championships together and Marc knew no matter what, no matter how shit something went, he could always return to the garage and have his brother's support no matter how often he crashed, how much pain the bike caused him, his brother was there in and out of the garage.

There's two ways to go from here:

1. They became even more codependent and Marc leaving Honda was like a slap to the face for both of them.

2. They drifted apart a bit always aware, that they could rely on eachother for everything and have someone to talk to no matter, but Marc learned through seeing his brother work through the night on the bike, that he wasn't doing it only for Marc, but also for his love of bikes and Alex learned, that no matter how hard he tried, how much he wanted it, he couldn't always make his brother happy.

Either way, there were long discussions held and many tears fell, while Marc thought about whether he should leave or not.

In the end Marc left and Alex stayed. Why? Because he basically had only worked with Hondas for his entire life, there was no set up, no aero, no engine, he knew as well as the Honda. He lived for that bike.

While Marc's crew chief switched over to the other side of the box, now working with Joan, Alex stayed on his side of the garage and started to work with the new guy. Luca.

He knew Luca, of course he did, well at least by name and from the few stories Marc had told, when he and Vale were still okay.

He had even raced against Luca, one single race in 2013, when Alex did his one and only podium in Misano in the Moto3, Luca had subbed in for an injured rider.

But it wasn't Alex to bring that info to the table. It was actually Luca, who after Alex had introduced himself with the rest of the crew had told him that little fact. Alex would have forgotten about it.

That was the first encounter Alex had with Luca's very observant nature, leading to him noticing the smallest details about people's habits and making positive remarks about those.

Away from the track Luca was kind, gentle and always in for a laugh, but on the track, he was just as fierce as everyone else. Despite the Honda being... well the bike that it currently is, he never once tried to blame his mechanics, rather giving feedback about the bike, than telling them in a condescending voice how shit it was. That would have been very understandable and Alex had been rarely actually mad, when riders had done that, he understood the emotions and knew that most riders would come around to apologize later, because it had been a heat of the moment thing.

They were working very close together, going over data until late at night, because Luca was as determined to make that bike work again as Alex was. So it became natural to them to spend time together and they were starting to become friends and eventually more...

#motogp #lucalex #lm10 #am73 #askkk #toni writes

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Five Times John Wanted to See a Movie, and One Time Kayne Made it Suck - a Malevolent Podcast Oneshot

In which Arthur struggles with right and wrong, bemoans the Hays Code, tries (and fails) to define love, and gets a second chance.

Spoilers up to Malevolent ep. 31.

AO3

----------

In January, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

“Damn it, John… fine. You know what? Fine! We’ll go sit in the dark and be perfect targets for someone! Is that what you want?”

He gives in, though.

Arthur can be stubborn. He can be foolish in refusal, often saying no just to say it. 

But to this?

To an innocent request, almost childlike in its intensity, and in its expectation of reply?

Arthur can’t hold out for that long.

Not when it seems to bring John such uncomplicated joy.

#

The movie is called Dancing Lady, and Arthur already knows nothing will ever be made like it again once the Hays Code has its way.

It’s a ridiculous love triangle, a “tarnished” woman (a concept Arthur finds absurd) torn between a rich sponsor and a poor lover, both of whom, at least, see her talent for what it is.

There are some scenes in this one. At one point, Clark Gable massages Joan Crawford’s leg, raising it above his shoulder, only hinting at the things that must surely be on display from Gable’s point of view.

Yowza.

It’s hard not to imagine Joan Crawford making the kinds of faces John describes, and Arthur can’t help a little bit of distracting response.

He focuses on his popcorn instead of anything else prone to explode.

“Those guys are a lot of silk hats and silk socks with nothing between,” says Clark Gable on screen, and Arthur laughs.

John huffs. Why are they being so particular about this?

“Particular about what?” says Arthur.

Tod, Patch, Janie. Why the fuck doesn’t she just lie with both of them? Why do they give a fuck?

Arthur is completely taken aback. “Well, it… I mean… she can’t do that.”

Why not?

Arthur has never in his life considered this question.

It’s about offspring, John decides.

“Ah… no, it’s not really—”

They demand monogamy so there can be no question of inheritance.

“She’s a dancing girl. She has nothing to inherit.”

Sure, but Tod does.

“Yes, but… that isn’t it, John.”

Then what is?

Arthur’s really not sure how to answer. What’s he going to say? That it isn’t the Christian thing to do? “I… it just isn’t done that way. Generally.”

Though in his musician days, he witnessed some truly unique romantic configurations.

It’s a lot to think about.

Stupid, pronounces John with fiendish delight, and continues to tell Arthur everything that’s happening on screen even though Arthur does not reply.

#

In February, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur sighs. “John. I’ve been fucking stabbed.”

Only a little, says John. The three stitches are fine. You’re fine.

He is fine, honestly. It wasn’t that bad, and in the end, they took out the giant bug-thing that poked him.

He’s pretty sure he isn’t poisoned. Maybe that alone deserves celebration.

Arthur sighs. “Well. I suppose an evening of distraction isn’t such a terrible idea.”

Of course it’s not a terrible idea. It’s mine.

Arthur rolls his useless eyes, but can’t help a little smile. 

#

This movie, though. This movie hits different.

Death Takes a Holiday is about Death himself, who is tired of being misunderstood, and decides to go slumming among humans for a few days to see if he can figure out why.

And he falls in love. 

With a human.

Which can’t end well for that poor lady.

Arthur forgets his popcorn.

The drama is absolutely contrived and thoroughly effective. The struggles of the inhuman to understand the human—

The choice of the human to understand the strange—

“And tonight, I must go back to my distant kingdom,” says Fredric March, whose portrayal of Death is passionate, quiet-spoken, and rife with tortured drama.

“Will you take me with you?” says Evelyn Venable, who plays Grazia, the love interest, and whose name means grace.

“Take you?” says Death, who is pretending to be something he is not, who is carrying on a wild con with the goal of… enlightenment? “Take you? I should be so unhappy alone. Take you? Oh, no, no… don’t tempt me. But Grazia, give me one hour of you—let me hold you once, and feel your life.”

Holy shit, Arthur thinks, because he’s pretty sure he knows how Grazia feels.

Sort of. He’s no damsel, and whatever he and John are isn’t romantic, but still?

“Now you see me as I am,” says Death, at last revealed as shadow, as monster, as darkly divine.

“But I've always seen you like that! You haven't changed,” says Grazia.

She chooses him, knowing what he is.

She chooses him, knowing what it will cost.

The music swells, and Arthur finds himself tearing up. “Then there is a love which casts out fear, and I have found it! And love is greater than illusion… and as strong as death!” Death declares.

John cheers. She goes with him! She went with him! Yes, Arthur!

Does John see the parallels, too?

Arthur isn’t brave enough to ask.

He wipes his eyes, amazed, moved. Almost envious of that stupid made-up girl.

Yeah. This one hit different. 

He can’t help wondering, silly as it is, if this movie was based on something that really happened.

Death and Grazia, reaching across the gap.

It’s not him and John.

But then, who can say just what they are?

#

In March, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Arthur is tired. “Really? Now?”

Why not? We owe ourselves a little treat.

They do, but after Death’s little romance, Arthur’s not sure he’s ready.

He has decided “friend” is the word for them, but only because he doesn’t have a better one.

Its problem is, it’s not strong enough. It’s nowhere near strong enough.

Arthur is well aware that facing off against the damned pallid mask cult again is the reason for his mood, but what he needs to remember is they failed. 

He’s alive. 

John is still here.

John did not take his exit, his gilt and crafted fire escape, much to the cult’s confusion.

When Arthur destroyed their framework of magic and bone, John cheered him on.

John doesn’t seem to miss them, or regret Arthur’s success.

That means a lot.

Friend? Sure. In lieu of a better word.

Arthur sighs. “What do you want to see?”

#

Jimmy the Gent is bonkers.

Arthur half wonders if it pushes the bar so hard because the Hays Code is breathing down Hollywood’s collective neck, threatening to end artistic freedom forever.

He also wonders if anyone but James Cagney and Bette Davis could have pulled this plotline off.

Cagney plays an unscrupulous man who seeks out wealthy folks who died without a will, then produces heirs to rake in the moolah—heirs who aren’t even real.

The main conflict is his girlfriend balking at his techniques, bailing to join a competitor, and coming back again when the eponymous Jimmy shows himself to be slightly less wicked than the other guy.

There isn’t actually a hero. It’s not black and white; it may be comedy, but it’s comedy gray.

“The only thing he's got that I want is you, and he took you away from me,” says Jimmy.

Oof. Those are some words to hear, and Arthur struggles not to apply them.

“He's got ethics,” says Davis, the dame Joan.

“I don't care if he has carbuncles. The only difference between him and me is he's got a smoother line,” says Cagney as the eponymous Jimmy.

Haha… ah. Wow.

“You can't make yourself clean by making him dirty,” says Joan, and Arthur’s stomach twists.

Arthur slowly exhales. This is a poor allegory for the King in Yellow and him, isn’t it?

But it maybe isn’t so bad for him and Larson.

He’s a little bit better than Larson. Just a little. Is that enough to make him good?

John, funny enough, doesn’t wrestle with morality at all in this, but has a blast with the humor, and praises the cleverness of the characters. He particularly appreciates the way Jimmy puts on airs to win back his lady love. Goal achieved, intimacy earned, all for the price of a barrel of determination and a pinch of deceit.

Arthur is uncomfortable as fuck, and eats all the popcorn at the film, too much popcorn, and gives himself a stomachache.

Somehow, he feels it is deserved.

#

In May, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

They end up picking one all about deceit, romance, and false identity.

The Thirty Day Princess is a heck of a ride.

Are you trying to tell me something? Arthur thinks at a god he doesn’t believe in, thinks at the King in Yellow who is and is not John.

“She Reminds Me of You,” croons Bing Crosby as the hero dances with the princess-under-false-pretenses, who’s filling in for her sick counterpart for a total of thirty days.

Who looks exactly like the ill royal, but most definitely is not her.

I'm standing all alone I've got nothing to live for She reminds me of you And she reminds me of you And it breaks my heart in two

Dear fucking gods.

John is not the King in Yellow.

Except that he is.

Arthur hasn’t processed this. Hasn’t figured it out.

I am the King in Yellow, sounds John’s voice in Arthur’s memory, and Arthur ends up physically ill at the end of the film.

John is quite concerned, but Arthur doesn’t know what to tell him when he asks what’s wrong, and leaves all his questions unanswered like unraveling thread.

#

In September, John says, Arthur, I want to see a movie.

Enough time has passed that Arthur’s resistance has worn down.

He refused two months in a row. He rejoiced (in silence) that the madness with the Order of the Falling Star prevented any such frivolity through August.

But now that’s done, and Kayne has another poorly defined deal that began with an entire group of cultists violently dead, and Percy has Arthur’s blood in a jar for some reason and a promise of future contact, and it’s done.

For better or worse, it’s done.

And it’s quiet.

And John wants to see a movie.

“You know what?” says Arthur, who could use the distraction. "There’s one I want to see, too. Do you know the poets Elizabeth Barret and Robert Browning? Well… Elizabeth wrote some of the most wonderful verse about love and longing that anyone ever has, and apparently, there’s a movie about it, so let’s go see.”

#

The Barretts of Wimpole Street turns out to be completely not what Arthur expected.

Love disallowed by a sex-repulsed parent, physical illness barring the freedom afforded any ordinary adult, a stressful and creepy scene with incestuous undertones, and a decision to kill a beloved pet dog (which fortunately did not pan out) leave Arthur feeling absolutely weird about the whole thing.

The movie tiptoes a lot about morality, about right and wrong, about societal norms and familial expectations.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with Daniel, after Bella had come down pregnant.

At least some of it reminded him of arguments with James, the day Faroe was born.

All of it reminded him of whatever he has with John, and he doesn’t know how to interpret that.

Norma Shearer as Elizabeth asking, “Robert, have you ever thought that my strength may break down on the journey?”

Frederick March as Robert answering: “It had occurred to me, yes.”

Arthur feels so very mortal, these days.

“Supposing I were to die in your hands?” she says.

“Are you afraid?”

Yes, thinks Arthur. I’m very afraid.

And then comes the line that hits hardest. “Yes,” says Robert Browning. “I am prepared to risk your life, much more my own, to get you out of that dreadful house and into the sun and to have you for my wife.”

Was that an okay thing to say?

Arthur doesn’t know.

He feels like he and John have each made that decision for each other, more than once.

But nobody’s a wife. 

Or something.

He’s not really sure what he’s internally protesting.

“I'm sick of fighting alone. I need a comrade in arms to fight beside me,” Robert says.

“But not one already wounded in battle,” Elizabeth says, who feels lesser, who feels so weak.

“Wounded but undaunted, unbeaten, unbroken. What finer comrade could a man ask for?”

Undefeated.

Arthur swallows hard. Maybe this one was pointed at him, after all.

That was kind of depressing, John pronounces with great cheer as they leave, having enjoyed every moment, and described it all to Arthur in an effort to help him enjoy it, too. I can’t believe he wanted to kill the dog! 

“Well,” says Arthur. “Some people are… cruel… when they lose.”

Someone should kill him instead, John says, and he is joking.

Probably joking.

It feels like John’s moral compass is more reliable than Arthur’s own, these days, so Arthur decides to just let that one go.

#

In October, Arthur says, “John—I want to see a movie.”

Really? You do? You want to hear one, you mean? says John, who’s being clever.

Arthur is able to laugh. “Yes, you whacko.”

John’s pleased. Arthur can feel it. I know you are, but what am I?

Arthur laughs again.

The back-and-forth is ridiculous, but feels so damn good in spite of that. Easy; effortless. Affectionate, knives long stashed.

Three whole weeks have passed since the Rancid Ruby case, and their successful retrieval of the jewel (and the minister’s daughter, whom they hadn’t even known was missing) has brought them enough business and enough income that Arthur has begun to believe John is right: they’re going to be okay.

It’s also put the final nail in the dismissal of their murder case. The minister stood as a character witness, and finally swayed the judge. Who knew?

Parker and Eddie’s deaths have been officially attributed to a burglary gone wrong—backed by Arthur’s wrecked car, miles from the scene; by hospital proof that Arthur, unidentified, had been in a coma; and by Arthur’s indisputable claim of amnesia, causing his disappearance for many months. 

Larson is MIA, having been carried off by the monstrous thing he summoned.

The Butcher is retired, having philosophized himself into a monastery, eager for hypocritical redemption and literal flagellation.

Kayne hasn’t called his favor, but right now, it’s hard to look toward that with horror.

Even this latest case worked out, with a wild showdown in Central Park, loads of witnesses, and the Jade MacGuffin returned to its owner.

It’s all coming up roses. Arthur is almost able to hope.

So what did you want to see? says John.

“Well, they’re saying this will be one of the last great movies—the Hays Code, and all,” says Arthur, who has tried to explain it, and shared John’s frustration at the enforcement of false human experience and morality on screen. “It’s about the great Egyptian queen Cleopatra—a tragic love story, and one that’s inspired all manner of art, music, poetry, and more for centuries.”

Sure. Sounds good. The theater on 15th has popcorn, you know.

That’s all Arthur needs to hear.

#

And it isn’t pointed, it really is not. But it sort of fits how he’s feeling, anyway.

“Together, we could conquer the world,” Cleopatra says, Elizabeth Taylor making every word so sensual that Arthur could drown in any one of them for a week.

“Nice of you to include me,” Warren William’s Julius Caesar replies, and Arthur chuckles, and John says, Hahaha! You can do better! and it’s such a beautiful, perfect shared moment.

And of course, she can do better—in the form of Marc Antony, played by Henry Wilcoxon.

Arthur loses himself in it all, even though he can’t see. The cast is huge. The effects (via John) are jaw-dropping. The music score is moving and expertly done.

When Taylor says, "On. Your. Knees,” Arthur feels some things he really doesn’t know what to do with, but the moment passes quickly.

Cleopatra is everything Arthur wanted in an evening of self-indulgent escape, and John’s continued enthusiasm only makes it more sweet.

Arthur sniffles at the tragic ending, even though he knew it was coming, which Taylor plays to the hilt.

It definitely doesn’t feel pointed like the other movies did. Arthur figures out why when it’s done, while he’s waiting for everyone else to file out so he can leave the theater unhindered.

A lack of communication and irreconcilable core values led to the tragedy on screen.

That’s not him and John. Well, it used to be; but Arthur is certain it’s not anymore.

John says, I think I understand her.

“Her? Cleopatra? How so?”

And with that unnervingly good memory John sometimes demonstrates, he quotes: ‘So Rome would forgive and take you back? And all they demand is for us to part. Why don't they ask the sun to fall right out of the sky?’

Arthur swallows.

That’s how I feel about you, says John, who has never said he loves Arthur, but has shown it, repeatedly and without hesitation.

Arthur has some thoughts on that. "I feel the same,” he says, who has never said those words to John, even though the King in Yellow called him on it months ago.

But Arthur’s fairly sure he’s shown it, too.

He's been thinking a lot about love, of late.

About what it really is, and how it is expressed.

About how the movies usually portray two kinds: romantic, and familial.

This love is neither. It’s different, loaded with unknown spice, broken free from a mold Arthur cannot name.

But it is absolutely real, and Arthur has come to a conclusion that shakes him to his core: he was already willing to die for John, many months ago, yes. But now?

Now, he’s willing to live for him.

Even if Kayne decided to offer me a body, I’m not going anywhere, John says out of nowhere.

“A body?” Arthur isn’t sure where that idea came from. “I doubt he’d do that.”

John says nothing.

Arthur tries to bridge whatever unexpected gap this is, squirming with things in the dark. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain papers for you, if that happened. Make you all legitimate.”

Really. Is that so?

Arthur has to poke. “I’ll say you’re from Montana. That should explain away any obvious social gaffes.”

Gaffes! I’ll have you know I’m far better at handling people than you.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? In this theoretical future that probably won’t happen.”

There’s another slight pause. Arthur frowns.

I want my name on the business, John suddenly says.

Arthur snorts.

Arthur! I’m serious!

“Yes, yes. I don’t see why not.” Arthur is more concerned he might not get his sight back than that John’s name is painted on frosted glass. “Lester and Doe, Private Investigators For Hire.”

Doe and Lester.

“Excuse you. I was in it first.”

But I’m clearly the smarter partner.

Arthur laughs. “You dork.”

And will probably be better-looking, too.

“Now, that’s going too far,” says Arthur, chuckling. 

You’ll see. I’ll draw everyone’s attention with my glorious form, and that’ll give you time to riffle their drawers.

“That’s… not a horrible idea, honestly, though there are a few problems with that—namely, you have no body, and even if you did, I’d still be blind.”

Well, I… well, we…

“Gotcha,” says Arthur, smug, because it’s easier to laugh at this possible future than actually deal with any of it, though even the shadow it casts hurts.

You did not. That’s not even a point. Half a point, maybe.

“Lester and Doe, it is,” Arthur says, because it’s fun to poke the bear.

Instead of answering, John gasps.

Arthur knows John. Knows him well. And immediately stops walking.

“You know, just when I think you two can’t get any cuter, you go and wrap a bow on your dicks and call it Christmas,” says Kayne so close that Arthur can feel breath on his lips.

Arthur staggers back a few steps, then stops himself. Running won’t help. “What do you want?”

Kayne must have kept pace with him, because he speaks just as close, an inch away. “It’s your lucky day! Oh, did you tell him, snippet? Did you? I assume you would have by now, I mean, it’s not like you had half a year or something to figure out how to broach the topic.”

Oh, no. What?

It’s like the ground under Arthur’s feet is shaking, ground he’d thought was solid, but hides a deep and jagged fault line. “What is he talking about?”

Arthur, I—

“Too late now!” says Kayne, and there is a whoosh of air.

Arthur staggers. He didn’t move, but he did, and the sounds and smells tell him he’s no longer on the sidewalk, but in an alley.

And then comes a voice he hates.

A drawl, casual and arrogant, and it doesn’t even matter that it’s coming from waist-height, because his immediate urge is to attack it at once like a bird in a mirror.

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” says Wallace Larson.

Arthur takes a step.

John reaches across his chest and grabs his arm, hard, like a physical restraint.

“Oh, the webs we weave when we practice to deceive,” says Larson, who sounds fine and dandy, if a little shorter than before.

Arthur, says John, evenly. He’s not alone. He’s strapped to a weird, short table, barely fitting into the alley, and his legs are jammed against the wall. And he’s not alone.

And because this wasn’t fraught enough, the next voice is identical.

Identical. But it isn’t John.

You! Murderer!

“Yellow?” says Arthur, shock stealing sound and sense from this moment, tingling through his body so his face feels numb.

Kayne bounces something light off the side of his head.

“What?” Arthur startles.

“Sorry, thought you’d open your mouth for it, like a baby bird. Popcorn?” Another one hits right under his eye.

“Stop it! What are you doing?”

It’s time for justice! Yellow declares.

Oh, shut the fuck up, John snarls.

Traitor! bellows Yellow.

And Larson starts to sing. Insultingly, it is a hymn.

“Bury my body,” Larson croons in a surprisingly pleasing baritone. “Lord, I don't care where they bury my body. Lord, I don't care where they bury my body, ‘cause my soul is gonna live with God.”

Arthur is going to kill him. The rest of this can sort itself out. He takes another step.

“Hold on there, boyo,” says Kayne in the Butcher’s accent, and takes Arthur’s hand. “You’ll need this.”

That is the handle of a knife. A knife, pressed into his right palm, which means Kayne wants him to do this, and that pours cold water all over the whole operation.

The handle burns, but Arthur ignores that.

Go ahead, says Yellow. You’re already a killer. I see it in your eyes. I know you, Arthur Lester!

This can’t be happening.

“It is, though,” whispers Kayne in his ear. “Looks like Little John didn’t tell you anything, did he? That’s a real foundation for trust.”

“What?” says Arthur, who feels stuck like a skipping record.

You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, says John.

I do. He confessed. He murdered that man and fucking ATE HIM.

He did that because of you! John roars at Yellow. You’re the one who put him in the pit! You’re the one who sent him the gods-damned cannibal! What did you want him to do, just sit back and be eaten?

“What?” says Arthur, weakly.

Because for Yellow to have done that means—

I did? says Yellow, sounding as confused as if he’d been thocked on his phantasmal head.

“Oh, oh, oh yeah,” sings Larson. 

Arthur needs a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” he snaps before anybody can yell at him, and turns to stand at the entrance to the alley, just breathing.

He’s very, very glad he had no alcohol with dinner tonight.

“I dunno, pal, it might’ve helped you out,” Kayne says.

“What is this?” says Arthur.

“Isn’t it clear? No, I suppose it’s not—guess good old Liz (or maybe Henry) redirected the blood from your brain to elsewhere. You’re here to kill your enemy, my boy! End the torment. Flip the switch. Bring that hammer down.”

Arthur swallows. He’s tasting metal again—a thing he’s noticed only happens when he’s on the verge of panic.

Which he is. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Arthur, I can explain.

“Shhh,” says Kayne, and touches Arthur’s lips.

Arthur tries for him with the knife. 

Of course, it only hits brick, jarring his hand. “Ow,” he mutters. “Damn it!”

“He’ll get to explain it all after. For now, however, you, being the key in this situation, being fully entangled with him, and thus, his representative with a physical form, have a job to do.”

“What job? I haven’t agreed to—is this my favor? For killing those cultists?”

Kayne laughs. “No, you sweet thing. It’s his.”

“His?” Arthur’s voice is small.

I… Arthur, I…

Get back here! Coward! Yellow calls from the alleyway.

“I have questions,” says Arthur, but he honestly can’t think of one.

Kayne tsks at him. “I can see you’re in shock, you tender soul, you, so let’s make this simple. Do this, or John’s gone.”

“Gone?” Arthur’s voice cracks.

“Removed. Incised. Purged, if you will. It’s what he agreed to.”

“John?” says Arthur.

This is what you wanted him in New York for? John says, sounding incredulous.

Arthur’s brain has skipped parts of this conversation like it touched an electrical fault, and he blurts, “Yellow is the King in Yellow, isn’t he?”

Kayne laughs. “Wow, are you behind! They’re both the King in Yellow, my darling rose. Snippet, what have you been teaching him? What, nothing? Well, this is on you, then.”

Get back here! howls Yellow. We’re not finished!

“I said all right,” Larson starts singing again. “You know it's alright. It's alright, c'mon.”

And it calms Yellow. It calms the piece of the King in Yellow, the copy of John that Arthur betrayed, that Arthur ruined so badly that he’s refused to think about it because there’s no fixing what went wrong.

“You are correct on that one,” Kayne confirms. “This is fun, and all, but boys… you’re losing my patience. It’s time.”

Arthur finds himself walking back into the alley.

It’s easy to follow Larson’s voice. 

To follow the sweet-syrup sound of that most hated man, who is awfully damn calm about this, and that is the one thought that surfaces. “You’re awfully damn calm about this, Larson,” Arthur snarls.

“Of course I am, my boy. I’m about to enter immortality. Little hard not to face that with some sorta joy, given all I paid for it.”

“Paid for it!” Arthur’s voice breaks. “You didn't pay for it! Your daughter did!”

“So did yours,” says Larson, who shouldn’t know that, who must have been told by Kayne. “We both got to where we are through that most unfortunate necessity, didn't we?”

Murderer! Yellow declares.

Six months ago, that would have been it.

Arthur would have lost it. Gone feral, melted into violent goo, stabbed and tore and shouted until he was covered in gore, until Larson was unrecognizable, until the form could compete with Uncle for mess and mayhem and pulp in bad places.

Today, he pauses.

It’s not the same, says John, calm, because this is only for Arthur. You know it’s not. We’ve been over this.

He killed his daughter! says Yellow.

He made a mistake and she died—and what the fuck are you crowing about? Your guy sacrificed his on purpose! One’s an accident and the other isn't! Fuck, how stupid are you? Did I get all the intelligence, is that it?

What? says Yellow, again taken aback, again stuttered to a halt in the middle of rage.

Arthur realizes with a little gut-twist that Yellow is weirdly naive.

Gullible. That’s the word. He just accepts what anybody says in the moment, then applies that black and white, childish morality.

Yellow would not understand half the movies they’d seen of late.

Why? Why was this?

“Because he didn’t get to spend a month all alone, silly,” says Kayne. “Isn’t that neat? It’s all about godhood and nature versus nurture and all that kind of thing. If you’d been awake the whole time, your John would be even screwier than he is. It’s almost like your bad luck scratches the itch of some eager, chaotic observers. Anyway! What’s the hold up? That’s the guy who hurt you, Arty. That’s the guy who made your teeth loose. You really gonna hesitate now?”

That’s the guy means Yellow, not Larson, and this just got more complicated. “What happens to Yellow if I do this?” says Arthur, because he never asked that before, and he should have, and it’s probably too late, but that’s just how his life goes.

“Hm? Oh, he’ll die,” says Kayne.

John gasps.

Shit. “And what happens to John, then?” says Arthur.

“Heck if I know. This is all new territory, which is why I’m being so patient. Don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Lead me, Jesus, lead me,” sings Larson. “Why don't you lead me in the middle of the air, and if my wings should fail me, won't you provide me with another pair?”

“So you’re crackers,” says Arthur. “Barmy. Lost your damned mind. This isn’t Jesus. This is Kayne. He’s not going to do anything good for you.”

Kayne gasps. “Such ingratitude!” And he laughs. “Next, you’re going to say you don’t want your office filled with music boxes.”

Okay, that—

Okay.

Arthur needs another moment.

“You don’t get one,” Kayne whispers in his ear. “It’s time. John didn’t tell you, and I’m glad he didn’t, because you are fucking glorious this upset, but it’s time. Kill him.”

“Why?” whispers Arthur, and means so many things.

Kayne doesn’t bother to reply.

I… Arthur, I….

“Will you be all right, John?”

I don’t know.

Arthur grips the knife. Its burning leather handle creaks, and Arthur accepts the pain in his palm, because something this messy should not be easy.

Yellow gasps. You’re going to do it in cold blood?

“I’m sorry, Yellow,” says Arthur, because Yellow is not really the King in Yellow, any more than John is. “It seems I fucked up for you all over the place.”

You’re a killer. I don’t expect anything better from you.

He’s human, says John. He’s made mistakes, and stayed alive. Your guy’s no better.

Yellow seems stunned again. He’s not?

Larson laughs. “Little guy, it’s all right. This is where it was always going. Why do you think I had to get you to New York? You’re my final step. My sacrifice. Your death’ll elevate me, son. Mister Lester, I’m fully ready. Do the deed. Let’s get this over with. Then, when I’m ascended, and I’m a god, I’ll be sure to stop by and say hi.”

Arthur’s throat is tight. “He can’t be serious.”

“His deals aren’t for you to know,” says Kayne. “Also, you’re out of time.”

“Wait,” says Arthur.

“Say goodbye to John in three,” says Kayne.

“Wait!” says Arthur, who has an idea, who suddenly thinks—

“Two,” says Kayne. 

With a choked, miserable sound, Arthur cuts Larson’s throat.

But not with the knife Kayne gave him.

“Oh, foul!” Kayne cries. “Oh! Oh! Cheater!”

Andrew! says Yellow, sounding distraught. Andrew! No! No!

What did you do? says John.

“Improvised?” says Arthur, who has no idea what he’s done, except he had to save John, except the knife Kayne gave him was maybe special, except this complete guess was the only hope he had, and he’d only had time to stuff Kayne’s knife away and grab his own instead.

Larson gargles. He sounds like he’s trying to laugh.

Andrew! Yellow sobs it. Andrew! He doesn’t seem to be dying.

So it worked?

So Larson doesn’t get godhood?

Arthur’s hand is warm with blood. He doesn’t know what to do. He tries to clean that knife inside his jacket, where he hopes it won’t show.

Kayne sighs. Paces. 

Kayne punches the wall.

It’s a bad sound, cracking, crumbling. Something inside the building crashes down, and there are screams.

Arthur shakes.

“You know,” says Kayne. “I’ll give you this one. I’ll hand it to you. Didn’t predict it. That’s awful rare. So I’m really pissed at you, and you’ll feel that soon enough—but I can appreciate a good scam.”

“I didn’t pull a scam,” Arthur says, quieter, because Yellow has begun to sob.

It is an ugly sound, wretched, utterly unselfconscious.

He’s doing that because Larson is dead.

It doesn’t feel good. None of this does. Arthur isn’t the same as he was in Addison. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Yellow doesn’t stop crying long enough to answer.

Kayne shoves him suddenly, bruisingly, against the wall. “I am… really… mad at you. I won’t get to pull an experiment like this again for who knows how the fuck long. But… that was the deal. You did the deed. Technically, you’re off the hook. But you, Arthur—you still owe me a favor.”

“I won’t kill Yellow,” Arthur says.

Arthur!

Arthur takes Kayne’s knife back out of his pocket and throws it down, and the clang it makes in the alley is weird, wrong, otherworldly. “I won’t. I’ve done enough to him! Fuck you, I—”

He chokes.

There is a fist is in his throat, impossibly swelling, knuckles distending, expanding, distorting, threatening to tear him from the inside. Can’t swallow around it. Can’t—

It stops. 

Arthur gasps, ragged.

“Better idea,” says Kayne, and suddenly, Yellow’s sobbing is inside his head.

“John!” Arthur manages, gagging, terrified John was swapped into the dead man’s body.

I’m here! I—what the fuck?

Leave me alone! Yellow howls.

They’re both in there, equally loud, equally growly, and it’s too much, there is a weight to the fulness of an eldritch god in his brain, and his own soul feels pinched and battered and stepped on, and he can’t breathe, and—

“This should be fun,” he hears Kayne say, and then he passes out.

#

The arguing is what wakes him.

That doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

Then you’re a hypocrite of the highest order, John snarls.

What does that make you?

Look, you moron, just calling me things doesn’t make it—Arthur! The change in tone is remarkable. Arthur—are you all right? Talk to me, Arthur.

The sharp concern in John’s voice—tenderness mixed with violence, crafted for him.

Arthur recalls Yellow weeping over Larson, and he aches for him, and wonders if his own inner compass has gotten even more broken over the last day. “I’m… I’m here. Fuck, I sound strangled.”

He does. Haggard, raspy. 

Larson could out-sing him at this very moment, and he won’t be able to sing to calm Yellow for a while, and that is such an odd thought to have that Arthur’s face burns, and he rolls over to press it into the cool pillow.

Wait. Pillow?

Lucky, says Yellow, low and bitter. Yours woke up.

I told you he would. He’s remarkable.

Andrew was remarkable.

Wallace Larson was a motherfucking cheat who traded children and people’s lives all the time to seem interesting. Arthur does it all on his own.

Arthur feels not all on his own a little too much, right now. “Yellow.”

What? says the new voice, and the tone is fearful, and challenging, and tight.

Is he doing this?

He’s doing this.

Arthur already decided he’s doing this, and he may be many things, but he doesn’t easily change his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Both the voices in his head are still for a moment.

What? they say together.

“I’m sorry. I met you when I was… I was at the worst of myself. I lied to you, and tried to control you, because I was so afraid of losing you again. Losing… John again. Kayne told me you were him, and I thought… you know, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I fucked up, Yellow. I’m sorry.” It feels weak. “That’s all.”

There is a trembling inside, a non-corporeal shaking that feels like maybe the fault line has been transplanted into him.

How dare you? Yellow says.

I told you so, says John.

How dare you lie to me! You just murdered my… you killed him!

Arthur sighs. “I did. I wasn’t letting John get taken. No matter what shape I’m in, that’s… just how it’s going to be.”

That trembling again.

Larson was ready to sacrifice you, like I said—but you’re safe now, says John to Yellow, which Arthur did not expect. You’re me. He won’t hurt you.

That’s more faith in Arthur than Arthur has for himself.

I’m not you. We can’t even merge, Yellow says.

“You can’t?” says Arthur, who’d forgotten that was a thing until this moment.

No. We… we’ve both changed too much. We can’t.

There is sorrow in John’s voice, deep and aching, a finality that communicates loss Arthur can’t fully comprehend.

It’s a farewell to a thing Arthur cannot even imagine needing.

He has no idea how to engage with it, so he goes for familiar ground. Not a poem, but the movie they just saw—a way to say, I love you, without saying those words. “‘You choose me, Cleopatra, against the world,’” he says.

John practically surges to respond. ‘Then we'll meet it! We'll smash it to pieces, put it together again and call it ours!’

Yellow is, understandably, confused. You’re going to smash the world?

“No, we… no. It’s a movie.”

What’s a movie?

John scoffs. Your asshole of a guy didn’t even take you to see a movie? We’ve seen six in just a few months!

But what is one? I want to see one! What is it?

Arthur is not going to see a movie right now. He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds. “How did I get to a bed? Did Kayne bring me here?”

There is a distinctly guilty pause. So, says John. When you’re fully unconscious, uh. We. Um.

We have control of your hideous form, Yellow informs him. You’re in your hotel room.

“What? Wait, what?” Arthur sits up. He feels the same. Blind, left hand and foot numb. Head too heavy, but—“What?”

When you’re unconscious, repeats John, we have control. So we got you out of there, because there’s a dead body, and we don’t need to face the police again.

Cowards, both of you, says Yellow.

Maybe he should take Yellow to see some morality plays before the movies, or something. “Where’s the knife? It had my fingerprints.”

Fucking Kayne took it back. It was weird, Arthur. I’m glad you couldn’t see it. Even with me looking through your eyes, they bled.

Arthur stiffens and reaches up. Sure enough, there are dried tracks of blood from his eyes down his neck. “Fuck. Can you see?”

Yes. You seem all right. Just… that knife was bad.

Why—Yellow stops.

“Why what?”

Why didn’t you use it?

Arthur’s not sure he’s in any shape to verbalize this. “What I did to you before wasn’t right. What Larson was doing to you now wasn’t right. It’s time someone didn’t do the wrong thing by you, is all.”

Silence in response.

Whatever that means.

Arthur stands, shaky as a newborn lamb, and feels his way to the bathroom. He strips as he goes, dropping clothing in a trail.

Is it time for a rite? says Yellow, oddly hopeful.

Rite?

He’s naked.

So?

This is too weird, and Arthur does not engage. He turns on the shower. 

But… humans get naked for rites.

John scoffs. He told you that? What the fuck?

They don’t get naked for rites? Yellow sounds lost again.

“So what you’re telling me is fucking Larson never washed his arse,” Arthur mutters, and John laughs.

Don’t you know anything about humans? says John then, disgusted.

Of course I do! More than you!

They are clearly going to be at this for a while.

Arthur lets them, hoping they tire themselves out.

He’s scraped from the bricks in the alley. Bruised from Kayne’s manhandling, and, he thinks, inside his throat. His right hand, disturbingly, seems to have been slightly burned where he held that weird knife. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he’s lost his fingerprints.

But he’s okay. He made it.

He always makes it.

And for the first time in his life, weirdly, he feels like he might have a second chance at something he truly fucked up.

They’re still fighting about naked humans. It’s obviously a cleansing rite!

You’re a moron!

“Yellow,” says Arthur. “I’m sorry you lost your person. He was a monster, but… I get it, and I’m sorry. Good, bad—they don’t matter when there’s grief.”

Another trembling pause as the steam rises, and Arthur washes away the blood, the sweat, the dubious stickiness he finds where Kayne grabbed him through his suit jacket.

I… didn’t like it, says Yellow, soft.

“I know. I think we’ve all… we’ve all gone through some loss here, through no fault of our own.”

Don’t tell me you feel bad for taking that fucker out, says John. You’ve been wanting him dead for months.

Arthur knows clarification is needed, and it is the hardest thing to do, but he has to make this second chance count. “Since I learned he sacrificed his daughter for power, yes. It made me think of losing my little girl, and though that was… that was an accident, I couldn’t… imagine someone doing it on purpose. I went a little insane.”

A little? scoffs John.

“A lot insane, then. Still. Yellow wouldn’t have landed in him at all if I hadn’t been such an ass.”

Actually, says John. About that.

Arthur has been thinking. “You made a deal with Kayne.”

I… yes.

Why? says Yellow.

To get back to Arthur.

Why? Yellow says.

He’s mine, says John.

“And, what? It was just about getting me to New York?”

Yes. He said if I did that, I could stay in you. He even hinted he might give me a body, if I paid his debt right, though it wasn’t… worded clearly. If I failed, and couldn’t get you to New York, I’d… I’d go back to the Dark World. But then we were here, and nothing happened, and I… I sort of hoped he’d forgotten.

“You could’ve told me.” It hurts a little. More than a little.

I’m sorry.

Arthur sighs. “I forgive you. We made it through. Just tell me anything else like that, all right?”

I will. I promise.

Yellow is quiet. 

Arthur has no idea how this conversation might stack up against whatever else Yellow has heard.

He dries off and limps back to the bed, where he falls face-first into the pillow. “No joyrides while I’m out. I need rest.”

You adapted to that news pretty quickly, says John, suspicious.

“I have not adapted at all. I’m simply too damn tired to engage with it right now. Tomorrow, I’ll have a proper panic over it, but for the next few hours, I mean it. No joyrides.”

Fine. No joyrides.

But what if we—

We promised. No joyrides.

I didn’t promise, Yellow grouses.

I did, and we are both the King in Yellow, and that’s our word. Shut up.

They are never going to stop.

Weirdly… it’s not that hard to tune them out.

It reminds Arthur of the strangest thing: those noisy, chaotic, wonderful days when Faroe’s “friends”—really just toddlers her age, in the neighborhood—came over, and everybody was yelling and squealing and laughing and demanding, and all the other parents (mothers, they were all mothers, and Arthur never fit in) clustered like chortling geese to add to the ruckus.

And it shouldn’t have been peaceful, but it was.

It shouldn’t have been the kind of noise he could sink into, but it was.

Why this is like that, Arthur doesn’t know.

Maybe he doesn’t need to know.

For some reason, John is now telling Yellow the plot of The Thirty-Day Princess. And then the Baron said, ‘We are on a wild goose egg!’

Yellow laughs.

Is it safe, to leave them unmonitored like this?

Then again, maybe they need it.

Arthur certainly needs it.

He has no idea what to do with this. He has no idea if he can keep them both in there. His skull feels oddly… strained.

But now, right now, he needs sleep.

John promised no joyrides. (Arthur will deal with that horror tomorrow.)

John’s promise, in spite of today’s unpleasant surprise, is good enough.

Yellow’s grief is real. That’s going to take time to navigate. Arthur feels he owes that much.

So… is everyone safe now? At least until Kayne returns?

Maybe.

Arthur doesn’t know how this works, and he’s no longer arrogant enough to assume he ever will.

Maybe he doesn’t have to know.

Maybe it’s enough to survive, and listen, and forgive, and try to make up for mistakes.

To take his chance to make up for one, and hold it with all his heart.

Arthur drifts off to the sound of John’s attempt at a Ruritanian accent.

Maybe it really is coming up roses, after all.

--------

NOTES

Of course, I had to do ridiculous research for this so it would all be accurate.

It's part of my self-indulgence. Hush.

Dancing Lady on Wikipedia, and you get to see the scene that made poor Arthur hot and bothered right here on YouTube.

Death Takes a Holiday is on YouTube in terrible resolution here, BUT if you skip to 1:04:44, you get to see where Grazia chooses to go with Death.

The romp that is Jimmy the Gent. The quip about ethics and carbunkles is right here, at 1:25.

The Thirty Day Princess was hard to track down, but I found a solid review of it, a clip of the Ruritanian accent, and of course, Bing Crosby's She Reminds Me of You.

The Barretts of Wimpole Street, including that DEEPLY uncomfortable clip where the father seems to think all sex is evil, then gets weirdly handsy with his daughter. Yowza.

Oh, Cleopatra... they don't make movies like this anymore. On. Your. Knees.

As for Yellow... well, I saw how he responded to Larson at the end of 28. He just... accepted whatever Larson said - weirdly innocent about it, which made Larson even creepier to me. I sort of figured without a chance to reset and think (like John had during the coma), he wouldn't be able to grow the same way.

The hymn Larson was singing, My Soul is Gonna Live With God. In your dreams, asshole.

#malevolentpod #malevolent fic #malevolent podcast #malevolent #malevolent kayne #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #malevolent fanfic #malevolent arthur #john malevolent #malevolent fanfiction

[juleshollow]

Reese/Dr. Kelly decision

(Episode 4 Spoilers)

This one is pretty straight-forward for me, but the choice I feel is "right" still leaves a guilty, sad aftertaste.

I give Dr. Kelly the tranquilizers.

I see it like this: when Reese starts to transform and Wayne arrives, you find yourself in the middle of a crazy dangerous situation that keeps getting worse. Unless you are Hot, you're powerless to stop it from escalating.

I was presented two bad options: help Dr. Kelly imprison her son again or let Reese murder his mother. I felt helpless because I didn't want any of those outcomes, so how could I make the most out of a situation that was so out of my control? By thinking ahead and picking the alternative that didn't have irreversible consequences.

I want Reese to be free AND happy. There are some things you can't go back from, and killing and eating your mom is one of them (seriously, he didn't need to devour her). No matter how awful Dr. Kelly's parenting was, that's something irredeemable that would clearly hurt Reese as well. Do you think Kaneeka and Stella would treat Reese as if nothing happened? Or that Reese wouldn't carry the guilt with him for the rest of his life? Would he internalize that murder is an acceptable solution to his problems, and weaponize his power again in the future? Reese transforms into something supernatural, but what he does with that power is what can make him a monster.

This turning moment makes me think of how all of Reese's story is about choice. Joan knew her son was different and she tells us that she had no choice but to keep him restrained for everyone's safety. But of course she had a choice. She couldn't know that he would harm anyone, she just feared it. It's the suffering that she inflicts to her son that makes Reese despise her in the end. I love that the game actually gives you the chance to call her out on that ("don't you think it's a self-fulfilling prophecy?").

She absolutely could have done things differently. She could have been honest with Reese about his nature (and how little they knew about it) and educate him to accept and control it. It's her fault that she didn't even consider it. Can you imagine having a super strong gym bro son and making him sick because "he could hurt someone with his powerful build"? That's basically what she does. She imprisons her son on the grounds of possibility, for a crime he hasn't committed and might never commit. She never trusted Reese, never gave him a chance. If she did, Reese could have been a fully functional Jersey Devil (or whatever kind of goblin he is) that used his powers for harmless purposes.

But Dr. Kelly's fear makes her narrow-minded when it comes to Reese. And in Episode 4 she tries to make us buy into her black&white philosophy - she frames the crisis as a situation with only two possible outcomes: either she tranquilizes Reese and locks him up, keeping everyone safe, or Reese kills her and rampages free to terrorize the town. NICE DICHOTOMY IDIOT, WHAT LIES OUTSIDE IT??

As I said, I want a different outcome and I won't let Dr. Kelly trick me into thinking that's impossible. So, despite being powerless to get my way in that moment, I focus on what I can do after. I cannot bring Dr. Kelly back from the dead. I can absolutely break out Reese later, and that's what I intend to do.

Reese transforms and becomes a bit insane PROBABLY because of the influence of the carving (so a bit my fault 😬 sorry I brought unearthly despair to your household, I'm a Scarlet). I hope that it will pass and I'll be able to reason with him when he calms down. I wasn't hot enough to appease you before, pal, I'll give it another try after your nap!

So my intention is to free Reese and maintain his innocence. Let's disrupt the self-fulfilling prophecy before it self-fulfills! There is a better way to do things and it's about time the Kellys hear about it.

I'm determined to do that, but it still feels awful to know that Reese thinks I betrayed him. I barely said a word to Dr. Kelly when she walked me out of the house, because she acted like we were sort of on the same page while all I could think was "you're still wrong and I'm going to get your son out of here as soon as I can, I just didn't want him to gobble you up".

#no i never call tabitha in this scene #i just wouldn't count on her making it on time #something like “when every second counts your cousin is minutes away” #also what could she contribute in that situation? #the answer is: a shotgun #she's a fast determined woman with a shotgun #reese kelly #joan kelly #scarlet hollow #black tabby games

[salted-caramel-tea]

alright my boyfriend and i FINALLY watched kahmunrah rises again and here’s our (my) final thoughts

spoilers under the cut

alright let me preface this by saying i KNOW this is a kids movie and is supposed to cater towards kids but i am a whore for night at the museum it was my favourite growing up and it’s my favourite now sono want to say as a viewer these were my honest thoughts being such a big fan of the og movies

CHARACTERS

only gonna talk about main and new characters tbh

nick

i was so lost tbh bc i’m not mad about joshua basset but the writing is what threw me . was t nick supposed to be going to college at the end of secret of the tomb ?? how is he back in high school in this movie ??? the summary says it takes place years after secret of the tomb so i’m a little lost about how old nick is supposed to be at this point

sacagawea

i love that they’re pushing her i to the foreground of this film i really wish she got more time in the first three movies and we learn so much more about where she comes from and shes such a bad ass in this film and the friendship with joan is great showing kids powerful women being friends with powerful women but . her vibe just felt so different. just different . a lot more casual a lot more modern american .

teddy

am i the only one that felt teddy was … dumbed down . like they tried to make him a himbo almost . he just wasn’t as likeable in this movie and it’s nothing to do with the actor it’s the writing just feels meh .

joan

i love joan of arc so i was excited to see her in this film but … they just kind of out her in with no context . i wouldn’t loved if they gave us some more background on her like when she was added as an exhibit or something just . it just launched us into her character and i wanted to know much more about her

miniatures

this is nothing against the actors talent im just . the vibe was not there at ALL. that being said they were simultaneously more and less fruity in this film.

but he sounded like an owen wilson impersonator . jack whitehall made octavius sound like his name is hugo. not a fan of their characterisation at all tbh WHY IS JED GINGER

seth

actually not mad at this character i see how it’s entertaining but it feels AWFULLY similar to napoleon in battle of the smithsonian .

the rest of the characters felt rather unremarkable tbh . i was gonna comment of kahmunrah but i literally have nothing to say

plot / continuity

it felt like they just kind of mashed all three films together if i’m honest . it just felt like a different version of battle of the smithsonian . the battle at the end in particular was VERY reminiscent of the fight between kahmunrah and larry . and the miniatures adventure feels like secret of the tomb again .

also in terms of continuity whats larry’s story wasnt be a teacher at the end of secret if the tomb ?? now he’s working in japan ?? also the tablet was supposed to train in london if the tablets there where’s ahk??? they were both in loan from the british museum as part of a touring exhibit at the end of secret if the tomb ??? also how does kahmunrah just pick and choose when things come to life in the first three films it was just evrything within a certain radius ???

also texas wasn’t part of teddy’s display but did appear randomly, and sacagawea had a horse but lewis and clarke were gone . and mcphee knows the secret of the tablet at the end of the trilogy so why did they revert and make it known that text cannot move in front of mcphee .

and girl this tablet can do anything . “ye olde ipad” <- my boyfriend

even the jokes in this one didn’t land as well . i’m fully aware the plot doesn’t exactly like up between the first three movies but this one just felt unoriginal and unnecessary as an instalment into what was a great movie trilogy .

the end of secret if the tomb was emotional and heartfelt even if larry made out with a fucking monkey, changing that just doesn’t feel right . i just didn’t feel like i was watching night at the museum .

#night at the museum #natm #kahmunrah rises again

[ftpverse]

SHADITUDE an early DI Shad Mix

for the asshole, the cocky teenager, the guy who thinks he's hot shit

(or, that's what he SAYS, anyway,)

--

-> [ listen ] <-

tracklist + liner notes under the cut

--

dragon rider - tsfh (instrumental)

gives you hell - all-american rejects truth be told, i miss you truth be told, i'm lying (when you see my face, i hope it gives you hell)

bad reputation - joan jett & the blackhearts and i don't give a damn 'bout my reputation never said i wanted to improve my station

i don't care - fall out boy i don't care what you think as long as it's about me / say my name and his in the same breath i dare you to say they taste the same

hello - courtney love shut up i'm about to tell you about the difference you will never make

crushcrushcrush - paramore if you wanna play it like a game well, come on, come on, let's play ('cause i'd rather waste my life pretending than have to forget you for one whole minute)

do you want to fight me - venus hum you're eighty pounds of wreckage in a mason jar you're a bit combustible, don't break

crusher - free refills i'll walk all over you with my leather boots break your heart in two, that's what i wanna do

doopliss theme - ZMiX (instrumental)

confident - demi lovato it's time to get the chains out is your tongue tied up? 'cause this is my ground and i'm dangerous

---

some other misc thoughts:

shoutout to all the ppl on main who gave me song suggestions for this; not knowing what it was for

and also magik for talking me into crushcrushcrush. i got so fuckored by it even tho this is supposed to be the angst-free playlist lol. i THOUGHT about putting misery business in here but while very funny as a concept i couldn't quite abide by the lyrics. i just couldn't... (too romance-focused, not even fitting at all, though very fun to imagine him and kairi singing together in [gesturing] the future or whatever. tho i wonder if kairi shared music with him while they were regularly meeting on the beach. honestly no way she didn't? fun little bonus scene...)

had to put a courtney love song in here after realizing 1) how cornerstone she was in the grunge scene, 2) that shad would love her music

''do you want to fight me'''s quoted liner notes are meant to be shad @ sora. but you can read them however you like :)

i put the demi lovato song in here because 1) it worked 2) shad would unironically listen to it. and think it rules. one of my longest-standing canons about his music taste that is he is a sucker for female vocals. i had to! i simply did!!!

i bitched about the og mix being 8 songs of which 3 were instrumental . and then kept 2 of the 3 instrumentals. look! i couldn't not keep the doopliss theme remix! okay!! first of all its JUST SO!!! ITS SO!!! second of all i needed something to help me transition into confident, which i refused to cut

other than the instrumentals i only preserved 2 other songs from the og mix - tho half a mix is pretty solid, i guess. still felt like i was scrambling for a hot minute tho.

the four i cut were:

1) the third instrumental (which was fine but that's SO MANY instrumentals, and also it was ONLY fine)

2) the only possible interpretation of it was his crush on kairi being Weird - even if i tried to reframe it as about sora it'd still kinda be weird. ITS HONESTLY EXTREMELY PINING. WHICH ISN'T INCORRECT BUT IS LIKE. THE WRONG TIMELINE FOR THIS MIX. BAD NEWS THE LYRICS DID FUCKOR ME THO

3) angst, in the mix i didn't want to have angst ((or at least to not swing away from being mostly uptempo and SOUND confident, even if there's layers of angst underneath))

4) ANGST THAT WASN'T EVEN LIKE ACCURATE TO HIM AS A CHARACTER. I HAD TWO OTHER BETTER-FITTING MCR SONGS I COULD HAVE - AND DID ELSEWHERE!! - USE FOR HIM SO. WHY DID I GO WITH THAT ONE? HELLO???? TO WHAT END???

#c: shad #b4:DI #DI:part1 #mixes #soundtrack #1/3 of attempting to preserve old mixes that i genuinely had to salvage somehow. due to being made in 2013.

[goddesspharo]

writer asks: 17, 18, 23

[ask me about writing!]

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic? While writing a time loop fic (that ended up not seeing the light of day in that iteration anyway), I went down a massive wormhole researching chaos theory and LET ME TELL YOU I still think about small differences in initial conditions leading to the impossibility of meaningful predictions. I need to write about time loops more.

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic? I am very bad at remembering lines I really liked writing or reading, not just in my work but in any prose written by anyone-not-named-Joan-Didion (“A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty” floors me as much now as it did ten years ago when I read it for the first time), but I just watched a RHOBH trailer tonight, a show I haven’t watched in years, so I’m going with “Groping each other during a Real Housewives marathon hardly counts as dating” from smoother than the LA weather as being a fave.

23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)?

Apparently I’ve decided that I can only write AUs that are so long and complicated that they need multiple chapters to work so I am a bit more disciplined when writing multi-chapter fics than one-shots (outlines vs vibes) simply to maintain internal consistency within the world I’ve created. But the one benefit of that is I know which plot beats I want to hit in a chapter and where that falls in the larger outline of the story as a whole. Within those moments, some lend themselves naturally to being better chapter endings than others. I also tend to end at a moment that can exist on its own while still being intriguing enough to make someone read the next chapter. I don’t like cliffhangers because a) I like the luxury of being able to skip forward a few days/weeks/whatever at the start of the next chapter; b) I try to end things so that if I were to never pick up that WIP again, it could still exist as a semi-contained story (although one that is not entirely satisfying because all the questions haven’t been answered) instead of one that ends on a gotcha moment. I can’t remember now which showrunner said that they tried to have each season of a show have a clear ending because they owed the viewers a complete story (especially in the landscape of things getting cancelled three seconds after they’re put out in the world) and I agree with that wholeheartedly. You’ll never get a “who shot JR?” chapter ending from me. It feels a little cheap.

#ask me things #we can pretend there is a thought process behind any of this

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

SO's Bookclub : The Séance

Title: The Séance Author: Joan Lowery Nixon Genre: YA Mystery

Goodreads Summary: Lauren is reluctant to participate in the séance, and she feels the first foreboding of evil shortly after the room is darkened. When the lights come back on, her fear turns to shock: Sara Martin is missing, even though all the doors and windows are locked from the inside...

Review:

So... I guess I'm going down this road now. Because I really want to see how these books hold up. Also, I want to throw out there that these covers are all really intriguing - and I think part of the reason I picked them up as a kid. Each one has a little bit of a spooky element to them.

This one I liked a lot better than Christina Lattimore. I really doubt any of these are the epitome of great literature, hence their fading into obscurity, but I at least didn't want to throw the book across the room in the same way.

The thing about this one - and something I just want to clock as I read through these because I never really noticed as a kid - is the atmosphere of these books. As I'm reading through chronologically, our setting is still set in the late 70s/early 80s (this book being published in 1980). And the atmosphere of this book really feels like an early 80s horror film. And I guess I found that the most interesting element?

I mean - life was just different back then. Before technology really began to run everyone's lives, what did kids do? They went to seances? Okay - maybe not, but there was just a different way kids kept themselves busy. But, also adding to the atmosphere, there's a creepiness the permeates throughout the book - because there's this knowledge that technology is going to save you. So when Lauren is alone with another character - there's a tension there that may not be there in a more modern adaptation.

I'm probably overselling this book, though, it still is a product of its time, and there are still issues due to that.

Lauren (and I'm blanking if she's ever given a last name) is more interesting than Christina Lattimore, and a lot less whiny. But there are still some trappings that I'm finding are staples of Nixon's writing. She lives in a small town in East Texas. Her guardian is a very religious aunt - and the church does play a role in the novel, especially playing against the idea of hosting a séance, and the prejudice spewed against the family of the girl who hosted. And the fact that Lauren is constantly worried about getting into college.

I will say - Lauren is an unreliable narrator - which works better than it should, since the novel hinges on information not given to the reader.

The other thing, though, that really interested me - was the first victim Sara. Because she's a 'bad girl'. In classic 80s horror tropes - the girl having the most sex is the one who dies, while the virgin (Lauren) survives. Sara is a girl who flirts with all the guys -- even guys who are much, much older (a theme that isn't really looked down upon, it was just expected that men of all ages would just pick up a teenage girl, despite being a minor). Does she actually have sex? The book is a bit murky on actually having it spelled out, but it's somewhat implied.

Adding an interesting twist, though is the fact that she was driven out by her mother because she was such hussy -- but the mother was the same way - even explaining that she's a woman who just needs a man in her bed cause she can't do without.

Idk - beyond giving me real Jen Lindley (from Dawson's Creek) vibes, it was interesting that the book doesn't necessarily condemn Sara's actions (beyond killing her off, which I suppose says enough) but tries to explain the reason as to why she is the way she is.

The other thing I want to clock is the usage of the teenage male hero in these books. Because so far, one turned out to be a dude the main character walked away from. Here, there's the slight hint of romantic possibility that is left open ended. I remember these books all having some kind of romantic twist in them, but I'm kind of surprised that it's just not the focus of the novel, and both Christina and Lauren have been so busy with their horror plights that it's not really a focus of either novel. I kind of wonder if Nixon through it in there because there's always a romantic element in these novels.

Anyway, despite me writing a novel of a review, the book doesn't really get that into the character work. Most of the other characters aren't really that developed -- we barely see the second victim, and all of Lauren's friends are just sketchy archetypes. What really does work for this novel is the atmosphere. It is spooky (again in that YA, early 80s way) and the book just does pretty well with keeping the tension going throughout.

So, yeah, for a book that really doesn't have a lot going for it - I definitely had a lot of thoughts about it. I didn't even get into some of the minor things - such as there's a description of a guy who had a hair color the same as his skin, and I could not figure out if this dude was super pale or black. (But figuring there really haven't been any black people yet explicitly stated in either novel - probably not the latter.)

Overall, I think it was a fascinating read -- again, read in only a few hours. Much better than her first book, but I remember, as a kid, not loving this one much either -- and I didn't find this one that bad. So, i'm looking forward to continuing this project.

Rating: 3 Stars

#books #book review #joan lowery nixon #the seance #sbc bookclub #ooff this one was long #i suppose I had thoughts #lol

[uwowrites]

no bc the way you write its just so pretty 😭 thanks for the part two i loved it <33

i'm feeling angsty bc i saw that one ending of boss crying when eugene turned into a monster and its just something hurts different when you see characters like boss being emotional.

SoOOo my annoying ass has another request- again

maybe something like the reader being in danger and getting hurt by a monster for x or y reason, obviously everyone is freaking out but the most affected is boss bc he couldnt protect his boyfriend correctly and he would very probably feel guilty. reader is ok and then they cuddle to swipe off the stress ♡♡

also, take your time with the requests and dont stress yourself with them, its okay if you take a little longer i promise its okay <3 your health comes first

bye bye!

Okay ngl, seeing Boss cry when he had to deal with monster Eugene just made me audibly gasp. Like, I did not sign up for an angst fest. All I wanted was to play a game with the found family trope.

Also, you aren't annoying. I am having fun writing these!

Thank you so much for being patient with me anon! Hope you like this one!

Got your back

Boss x reader

A silence echoed through the walls of Station 00. The inside was dimly lit by the lights that hung from the ceiling. The sight, while it was scary for some, served as excellent ambiance to the non-mortal employees who worked in the station. The night had proven to be peaceful so far, until the sound of an elder's grumbling broke the silence.

"They should have been back by now." said the older ghost, frown deepening as she glanced at the clock.

"They will be fine, Joan. This is Boss and Y/N we are talking about. They can handle themselves." River spoke, as she looked around the station.

Joan exhaled deeply before speaking, "I am glad Hayden and Eugene are safe at the sweat pea's place."

River placed her hands behind her head as she phazed through the walls of the office, trailing behind Joan. The office was empty. The lights were turned off and the room was illuminated with the moonlight, which was seeping through the windows.

The sound of Joan's cane rapidly tapping the ground brought River's attention, as the older ghost only did so whenever stressed. River floated towards the bench and sat down. Or well, pretended to sit down.

The two waited patiently for their coworker's arrival, as time seemed to drag on slowly. The ticking of the clock was the only sound that reverbed throughout the office before River closed her eyes and started humming, much to the annoyance of Joan. Though the elder didn't say anything.

The two jumped up, startled, at the appearance of an enlarged shadow mist, which cleared in a few seconds to reveal Boss, holding Y/N in his arms. River sprang up from her seat and flew quickly towards Boss. Scooping the unconscious soul from his hands, she laid Y/N down on the bench. She looked over their body, eyes carefully searching for all injuries inflicted.

Joan walked towards Boss and caught him as he swayed on his feet in exhaustion. The ghost muttered a 'Thanks' tiredly as he made his way to Y/N, Joan helping him walk all the way. The two watched as River let Y/N's body rest on their back.

"Y/N will be alright. They're just really banged up." River stated.

Boss sat on the floor next to the bench as he tried to tame his racing thoughts. River and Joan took in the state Boss was in, tattered clothes and bruised arm. Joan shook her head in disappointment before she disappeared. Boss knew that he was in for a lecture later. Although he was the head of the underworld office, the female was more than his employee. In their mismatched family, she was like a mother to him. A better and more caring one than his biological parent.

A few moments later, Sean phazed through the office, with Joan following behind. Sean first noticed Boss before his eyes landed on Y/N, his expression growing to that of worry. He rushed to their side and lifted his hands, a soft glow illuminating from his palm.

'At least one of us knows how to heal others.' Boss thought as he watched Sean take care of his partner. He felt a pit in his stomach grow as he looked at Y/N. Feeling useless and frustrated that he couldn't do more to help.

'I should have been faster to act. Had I not been so slow in sealing the other one, Y/N wouldn't have gotten hurt. And I couldn't even stop the one that hurt Y/N. It's still out there and who knows who it will harm next.'

Boss leaned backwards and closed his eyes.

"B-Boss?"

Boss hummed in reply as he opened his eyes and looked at Sean. The other still nervous about talking to him.

"I need to he-heal you as well." Sean stammered, hoping he wouldn't upset the ghost in question.

"I am fine." the shadow declared, straightening his back and trying to sit upright. This, however, caused him to flinch visibly, prompting him to mentally curse and pray that no one saw him do so.

Luck seemed to not be by his side as Joan tutted and said, "This isn't up for debate. You look terrible so Sean will be helping you."

He shifted his gaze to meet Joan's angry one. Realising he had no other choice, he nodded.

Sean sat down beside him and started focusing on healing him. Boss felt his energy drain slowly and he leaned against the wall once more.

"Sorry for draining your energy. B- But it's needed to heal you." Sean apologized.

Boss, not having the energy to give a verbal response, grunted before falling asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His eyes fluttered open as he woke up, brain taking time to register the pressure he felt on his shoulder. Boss tilted his head to see Y/N leaning theirs on his shoulder. Their arm curled around his as they sat beside him. The feeling of guilt crept up once again, a prickle of pain in his heart. He looked around and noticed the absence of the other employees.

'Where are they?'

"I told the others what happened tonight, so they left to take care of the other monster." they spoke, startling him in the process and making him realise that he accidently spoke the last thought in his head, out loud.

He didn't respond, but was aware that the other knew he had listened. Years together has made the two of them familiar with the mannerisms of one another.

"It's not your fault, you know?"

Unsure of how to respond, Boss opted to keep quiet. Disagreeing with the statement in his head, as he felt responsible for what happened.

"I let my guard down, got a tad bit over confident. So if anything, it's kinda my fault." they continued, hoping he would speak up.

"I wasn't fast enough. As a result, you got hurt. Y/N, your safety is my responsibility. You are still inexperienced, so keeping you protected is my priority. But, I failed tonight." Boss said, feeling disappointed in himself.

"I wouldn't really say that."

Y/N tightened their grip on his arm and nuzzled their head in the nape of his neck.

"The way I see it, you saved me tonight. If you hadn't thought fast and reacted the way you did, I would be monster dinner by now. You had my back despite me not watching my own back carefully. I'd say you did a pretty good job protecting me all this time. You got me here, and now I am almost as good as new. So relax."

He couldn't see their face for they were sitting beside him and the two of them faced the opposite wall. But hearing the smile in their voice, he relaxed.

"You are way too harsh on yourself sometimes. You did your best and we are here thanks to that."

He felt a pair of lips on his cheeks and perked up. Thanking his stars that his blush isn't visible due to his shadowy appearance. He couldn't stop himself from smiling though, albeit a small one.

Sensing his inability to fully accept what they had said, they continued, "We are both here. Safe and sound now. You got us out of tonight's mess. It was because of your quick thinking that I still have all my limbs attached. Sure, we had a really close call tonight but that's just one of the things we have to face in this job. I knew what I signed up for. And I know that you will have my back no matter what."

"You really believe in me that much?"

"Of course. I'd be a fool not to."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh my god. Sorry this took so long. I kinda feel the dialog is off but I really tried my hardest with this prompt

#underworld office #underworld office x reader #boss x reader #uwo #underworld office boss x reader

[giordirossi]

             GIORDANA ROSSI || Character Breakdown

Put under a read more for your viewing pleasure/to save the dash.

What is their go-to takeaway food, and what do they usually order?

Sushi and she tries something different almost every time. Favorites include anything involving spicy or avocado.

Who is their go-to drunk dial?

It doesn’t happen often because he’d lord it over her and make jokes until the end of time, but Vincenzo. She’s perfectly content with calling him 3 times in a row while sober.

If they take the tube, what’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to them?

She drives or walks to avoid 1) being groped in a crowded space or 2) being confronted by a man who smells like crackers and says that she looks like she could play tambourine in his band.

Has your character ever gotten so drunk they pissed themselves?

Not even once. Getting deeply inebriated wouldn’t be safe considering her line of work and she never feels comfortable not being in control of her own body. It would literally never happen.

Have they ever lost someone close to them, and how do they remember them? (Listen to old voicemails; look at old photos, etc.)

Not in death. I think she considers Frankie getting married a sort of loss though and she certainly hasn’t been mature about his choice of wife. There’s a little fear of abandonment in him moving away from the family, so do with that info what you will. She remembers him by being an annoying little sister and intruding on his life.

On the other hand, losing fellow Sovrani comes with the territory and while it can be infuriating, she was never close with them.

How many people has your character fucked?

It’s a lower number than you might think. She’s Catholic so there is a modicum of religious guilt mixed in with one-nighters and because of that, Giordana is actually a bit particular about the people she lets close enough to see her in such a vulnerable state.

Then you factor in the nature of her work/general attitude/quickly getting bored of people, all of which make it difficult to find a real connection. 

Generally speaking, people she goes home with are either meant to be a quick fix with minimal talking (so she doesn’t have to think), or she chooses them because of a weird, kindred spirit thing that she can’t put her finger on and the memory of that person bugs her for awhile. The latter happens very, very rarely.

Which reality TV show would your character best fit?

She would make a great demo girl on any house flipping show. Just give her a sledge hammer.

Most expensive pair of shoes they own?

Giordana’s style is classy and understated. She’s also very careful with money so the most expensive pair that she owns are black Jimmy Choo heels.

Go-to karaoke song, and can they sing it well?

She doesn’t do karaoke, but she’ll watch. If need be, she’ll do I Love Rock 'N Roll by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts because it’s easy.

Did they party in their younger years? What were they like, and where did they go?

Giordana joined the Sovrani as a teenager and spent a long time working her way up/building her reputation from scratch. So she never really had a stereotypical adolescence or early 20s, which means partying wasn’t her main priority during that time. 

Honestly she goes out more now at 30 and while that’s still fairly young, not having been in the scene during her formative years means she has some restraint to avoid going balls to the wall.

How many Disney/Disney Pixar movies has your character seen, and which is their favourite?

A good few and she really loves The Nightmare Before Christmas, Mulan, and Treasure Planet. Monsters, Inc is also one of the funniest movies she’s ever watched. Coco gets an honorable mention for being, in her opinion, the most beautiful Pixar film ever created.

Red Bull or Monster?

Red Bull, she’s not a 16 year old boy.

Has your character ever been to a music festival? Which? Did they enjoy it?

No. She considered trying Coachella at one point, but it seemed crowded and full of fake instagram girlies. So hard pass on that.

If you character had to gear up for a fight, what would they bring?

Giordana firmly believes that the most important thing you can bring to a fight is your mind. Weapons are useful, she herself would probably choose a shiv for the ease and it being lightweight, but nothing is more valuable or deadly than a person who can outwit somebody else in the middle of a brawl.

Who would they bring as their backup?

Giorgio or Rina. Vinnie if she must, but he’s a big time leader boy now and she would never risk him. More often than not, she’s his backup.

Who would your character kill/have assassinated if there were no consequences?

Melissa Lin. :)

What are their favourite three toppings for a pizza?

Spinach, mushroom, extra cheese.

How do they keep fit? What does their training regimen look like?

5 mile morning runs and she uses her home gym several times per week. Fitness is not something Giordana is willing to compromise or give up, in a fight it could mean the different between life or death.

Nutella or peanut butter?

Peanut butter.

Is your character married? If so, what was their wedding like? If not, how do they imagine their wedding will one day be?

She’s never been married and I don’t think she imagines it much at all. Giordana doesn’t get on with people or let them in very often so that makes the concept of marriage very abstract for her. On a deeper level, she also can’t fathom the idea of someone sticking around very long after knowing who and what she is. Nobody wants to marry a monster.

If they could visit any country in the world, which would it be?

Italy. Which is a cop out and she knows it, but I headcanon that she’s quite attached after visiting the country often in her youth, not just for the Sovrani. 

Which is their favourite of the countries they’ve already visited?

Giordana really loved a brief trip that she made to Costa Rica. It’s a special country.

What is their favourite cologne/perfume?

Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium.

Red wine or white wine?

Red, but she won’t turn her nose up at white.

Are they any good at playing Monopoly?

She’s the best cheater there is. Don’t let her be the bank.

Have they ever played a video game? Like Red Dead Redemption II, for example.

Does Mahjong on her phone count? Though I feel like she played DDR as a kid, don’t ask why.

What is their favourite type of weather to be stuck in?

Thunderstorm. She really, really loves the way that the sky changes color and the air feels charged with electricity.

Do they like living in London, or is their being here more of a necessity than a choice?

Absolute necessity, she would not have voluntarily relocated here on her own. Alas, she will go wherever Vincenzo does.

What’s the wildest thing that’s ever happened to them at an airport?

Being stalked by a Russian asset from security until her gate. Just barely made it. She also once had an 8 hour layover, which doesn’t sound that crazy but iykyk.

Have they ever been caught up in a natural disaster?

No, but I think she’d probably do well in a nightmare disaster scenario. Would she enjoy it? Not even a little. But she’d survive.

What is their usual coffee shop order?

She doesn’t drink coffee, she runs on spite.

Have they ever watched American Football? Did they think it was just rugby for bitches?

Well, IT IS. She thinks American Football has too many commercials, too many rules, and isn’t as exciting as rugby. (yes this is a biased answer)

If they had to join another mob (erasing their current affiliations entirely) which do you think your character would fit best?

As much as she loathes the idea of it, the Italians don’t call her their Russian for no reason. 😬

Has your character ever killed anyone? If so, what’s their kill count?

It is quite literally her job, but I don’t think she keeps a running tally because that’s weirdo behavior. 

If I had to assign a legitimate number and not say something ridiculously OP’d about her abilities/the reality of what it takes to efficiently kill a person without getting caught, the number is probably closing in on 75. Which is still very high all things considered.

Which is their favourite borough of London to spend time in?

Westminster? Idk she just got to London, but she likes that area.

Do they have any interesting /important family members or ancestors?

She wouldn’t know because she has no idea who she was before being adopted into the Rossi fam. So TBD on if that past becomes a factor in her future. :)

Who are your character’s top three celebrity crushes?

Amal Clooney, Hugh Jackman, and Harrison Ford (both young and old).

If mob affiliations didn’t exist, who would your character be most attracted to on the dash?

I’m including who she’s already attracted to, but alas... Gideon, Ayaz, Yvonne, Azra.

What’s the name of the first pet they owned, and what kind of animal was it?

A cat named Milo.

Do they have a former friendship they miss/wish they could revive?

Nope. She’s basically Spongebob with 3 friends drawn on her fingers.

#( x. muse ) #( x. character development )

[mercurygray]

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

⭐️

Time to Fess Up, Take One:

This is the first version of the scene we saw in Chapter 39; it was originally written in May of 2020. The dynamic between Lew, Dick, and Joan changed tremendously in the interim - in this take, we see that Joan is more removed from the two men, which didn't hold up through the rest of the story - when I wrote chapter 13, the scene on the train leaving North Carolina, it became clear that Joan and Lew were going to be good friends, so the tone here wouldn't work.

I did, however, really like the element of having Lew trick Dick into telling him what happened. No mention has ever been made in the actual story of a betting pool on when they'll get together - that element was also removed early on in the story. In this scene, you'll also notice that Dick makes a big deal at the end out of the fact that he's used her name, rather than 'Warren'. That element of intimacy was also removed in favor of when he starts using the name 'Joanie'.

His friend nodded. “So, what did you and Joan get up to in Paris that weekend?” Nixon asked, casual as anything.

Dick glanced at his friend and tried to figure out what Nix was playing at. “What’d she say we did?” He asked, feeling he was going to regret this conversation later.

But Nixon only raised his brows and smiled, turning towards the sound of footsteps and breaking into a huge grin when he saw who it was. “Lieutenant Warren, we were just talking about you. I realized I never did ask about your trip to Paris. How’d that go?”

Dick suddenly felt very hot under his collar, struggling to manage his face as Joan looked between the two men for a moment, very aware, between Nixon’s mischievous, shit-eating grin and Winters’ pressed frown and burning red cheeks, that she’d missed something. “It was very nice. Thank you for arranging that, Captain.”

“My pleasure,” Nixon said, as if he had not just royally played his best friend into admitting something he shouldn’t have. “You deserved it. Do anything fun while you were there?”

“Met up with a friend, went to the Louvre, took a walk. Enjoyed the silence for a while.” 

“Oh, really, that so? You know, Dick had a pass, too, that weekend, and he was just saying that he went to the Louvre. Small world. Maybe you saw each other.” Joan glanced at Dick, face now in a very pained grimace, and lost a little bit of her usual aplomb, which only served to make Nixon even happier.  “Oh, please, the pair of you. I could fry an egg on your faces.”

“So who wins the pool, Captain?” Joan said, trying to look very bored by the whole exercise, though her cheeks were red with something that wasn’t the cold. “Or does Captain Winters have to produce our ticket stubs and the receipt from dinner?”

“Oh, I’m not telling anyone,” Nix said, with a smile. “I just wanted one of you to admit it.” He began to walk away, “Foxhole’s right there, Dick.”

“I’m sorry, he...said you’d talked already, I didn’t know.”

“Someone was going to find out sooner or later. It might as well have been him.” She took a deep breath and glanced around the frozen woods.  “Though I’m a little touched it took this long. He is your best friend.”

“It didn’t seem fair.” This was a different woman from the Joan he’d met in Paris - she had shadows under her eyes and paleness in her lips, and her hair, braided and clubbed under her helmet, hadn’t seen a wash in weeks. Her coat seemed to float on her - was she warm enough? Was she eating? Their dinner seemed incredibly far away. He found himself longing for the closeness of their walk along the river, shoulders touching, an accidental brush of hands. It distracted him, and this was not a time for distractions. 

“We don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” she said, though it almost seemed a reminder to herself - or to him? “We know what we did.”

We took a walk, visited a museum, admired some paintings, bought souvenirs, ate dinner. We did not share a taxi, or a hotel room, or even dessert. 

But you pretended to be my girlfriend to make another woman leave me alone. We were mistaken for lovers. People told you I was handsome, that we made a good couple. I told you about my family. You helped me buy my sister a gift. I called you by your name, and you called me by mine. You kissed me.

#director's commentary #deleted scenes #the darkening sky #fun with dick and joan

[brown-little-robin]

which of your clones would do the best/most enjoy a road trip?

um Lu I may have... gone a little overboard on this one. So I'm gonna answer your actual ask here but add a readmore for people who want to know exactly how every single one of the clones would deal with a road trip!

Four would officially do the best on a road trip. Reasoning: He would probably stay functional the entire time, even on a multi-day outing, which, bless these traumatized children, cannot be said with certainty of clones Seven through Ten. Out of the clones who could actually handle a whole road trip (Two through Six), I'm eliminating Two because he would be too stressed out to really enjoy the trip. I'm eliminating Three because he would struggle for control of the expedition, making the road trip, at best, awkward. Five is out because he would have a bad attitude. Six would love a road trip except that his social battery would get drained way too fast and leave him miserable... It comes down to Four, therefore, who not only has the stamina and social battery to survive a long road trip but also would genuinely enjoy it.

But Eight would enjoy a roadtrip the most. He's just so amazed to be able to experience stuff with people! And he would take more joy in the social parts of the trip than Four. Eight is more of an extrovert than the others and would love the car games and talking to people.

Eight isn't the best on a car trip for reasons explained below.

(Because I would want it, here is a link to visually orient yourself to what the clones look like!)

Two: likes nature in theory, skeptical about manmade landmarks, hates being cramped with other people with no control of his personal space. Would not have much fun but would bear it reasonably well. Attuned to his brothers' comfort levels if he's on a road trip with them and goes full Mama Bear if any of them are visibly stressed out. Three: LOVES it. For all of an hour. Tries to take over the planning and add new destinations. Gets bored in the car. Fights parents for permission to just run to their destination instead. A road trip would provoke a whole crisis of authority in the Martel family. Three would have intermittent fun and be exploding with impatience at other times. So.... mixed results? Four: enjoys it. He loves being in nature and cool old buildings; he'd wander in a pleasant kind of serenity through a road trip and put up with the people around him with good grace. The cramped car wouldn't be an issue if he had something to keep his hands busy. The awkwardness of having to reorient himself every time a different alter fronts and see Jay and Joan's reactions to how often he switches and how clearly he doesn't remember his isolated experiences would put a damper on things, though. Five: how would you even convince him to go?? he has a MISSION to do, he can't go on a road trip. And after he's done with his mission, he's a homebody (except for his love of sailing out on the ocean but that's DIFFERENT.) Also, he'd have to deal with complicated relationships for hours on end, ugh. He would reluctantly enjoy it eventually, though, especially if Two (his emotional support family member) was there to talk to. Six: loves hiking and exploring!! He'd not enjoy being out in public for people to stare at as he runs into things (he has vision problems), and he'd drain his social interaction resources REAL fast, but he would actually like the road trip part. Also, the stargazing and late-night conversations would make the awkwardness worth it. Seven: please, please don't make him be around strangers. Seven would wear a medical mask to hide his teeth but still be self-conscious and gets overwhelmed very fast. Also, being trapped in a small space with people? would bring up trauma reactions. yeah Seven would be miserable. He'd enjoy seeing big animals but that's about it. He would probably have a meltdown within the first two days and Three would have to take him home. Eight: would run into logistical problems since he can only manifest a physical form into the world for a few hours at a time. Other than that, though, he'd like a road trip. He'd get along with everyone. He'd smooth arguments over like a pro, distracting or calling people out as needed. He'd play car games. Eight would be a delight to have on a road trip. If he could stay more than three hours. Technically Eight can be around 24/7, but who wants to share a car or hotel room with an entity made out of lightning who can't sleep, contains all the memories of every dead relative you have, and tends to project his thoughts directly into your mind? Nine: depends on... when. He would be the worst road trip companion ever during his screaming-fighting-rebellious don't-call-me-anything-but-Inertia days, obviously. But once he's calmed down a little, he could actually be decent, if a little overactive. Nine has lots of excess energy to burn and putting him in a car for hours is just asking for him to start fights. However, he would like the destination spots and the greasy travel food. Ten: the advisability of bringing a nonverbal kid who deals with severe paranoid episodes on a road trip is questionable. However, if he's having a good day (or a few good days in a row), he would be a pretty decent to travel with. He's quiet (obviously), doesn't ask for much and doesn't start fights unless he feels threatened. But... with Nine around... ugh. It would be difficult. Ten would be okay on a road trip, though, especially if he's allowed to have his mp3 player and earbuds in most times.

#clones chart #basically #I need to organize my clone tags again #cloneboards

[oh-hey-big-zam]

(She's a little) Runaway

Post summary: When Chrissy and her mother's contentious relationship comes to a head, the only thing Chrissy wants is to see Eddie Munson play guitar at the Hideout. This simple desire changes both of their lives more than they could expect.

Pairing: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson

Word count: 15K

Content warnings: verbal and physical parental abuse, explicit sexual content

The sleepy town of Hawkins, Indiana, lay silent and still, apart from the occasional hooting owl and the hurried scuff of a girl's sneakers on the pavement. The girl in question, Chrissy Cunningham, had always found the silence of the town, especially at night, odd and oppressive, although she knew most people found it calming and serene. When she'd been a young child plagued with insomnia, she felt like she must be the only person in the whole world who had the urge to get out and explore the town when it was bathed in it's oddly beautiful darkness. She imagined that everything, from her school playground with it's creaky swing sets, to the corner store where she snuck an occasional candy bar past her mother, would take on a different dimension at night. She'd read about liminal spaces in one of the big school encyclopedias a few years ago and become fascinated with the concept. Everything in her life was much the same; wake up, school, cheer practice, home, pick at dinner, finish schoolwork, go to bed hungry. She went to the same places and saw the same people and did the same things; she didn't really mind it for the most part, but something in her ached for change, for newness, for disruption.

Maybe that was why she'd put on dark eyeliner that day instead of her usual light baby blue eye shadow. She'd been at the drugstore earlier that week, picking up her father's sleeping pill prescription, when she saw Joan Jett on a magazine cover, all big hair and leather, staring her down. Almost daring her to do something, anything, besides exactly what she was supposed to do. She'd bit her lip and grabbed a dark eyeliner pencil from the makeup counter, sliding it into the pocket of her skirt surreptitiously.

She'd gotten a few odd looks at school and almost considered wiping it off in the bathroom, until Eddie Munson had approached her. Their lockers were only a few feet from each other, but they hardly spoke; Chrissy considered him to be part of a different world, although one she kind of admired deep down. He had looked at her and nearly done a double-take; when she felt his eyes on her, she'd looked up to see him smiling at her almost curiously. He began to walk towards her, and she straightened her back, feeling her insides clench.

“Like the new look, princess,” he said idly, leaning his hand on the wall above her head.

She laughed a little shyly. “Please, don't call me that.” She knew that a lot of kids at school called her princess behind her back, because her parents owned the biggest house in town, a palatial home with roman columns at the front door and a lawn manicured to perfection. Some of the girls said she'd only gotten the head cheerleader spot that year because her mother had written a check for two new school buses to replace the ones in deep disrepair. She tried not to let it bother her, but she felt like sometimes people didn't bother to get to know her beyond the facade she showed to the world.

Eddie put his hands up apologetically. “Sorry, I just...it's not what I expected from you, is all. You kind of look like a rock star.”

She felt her face grow hot and knew she must be turning red like some idiot schoolgirl. Although she was eighteen, the furthest she'd ever gotten with a guy was a disastrous roller rink date that ended with a broken ankle.

“Really? I mean, I just wanted to try something different, I guess. I wish I could play like Nancy Wilson, but my mom won't even let me have a guitar.”

“That's a shame, pr- Chrissy. You know, my band plays Tuesdays at the Hideout. Not exactly the Garden, but you gotta start somewhere, right?”

She felt a flutter in her chest; somehow he'd hit on exactly what she was feeling in that moment. “Yeah...gotta start somewhere.”

He smiled at her and she gazed back at him, all dark curls and bright eyes, and she could almost see a tattoo on his chest if he pulled his shirt down just a little...

He cleared his throat, breaking her reverie. “Gotta run, trig's not gonna fail itself. But yeah, come see us if you ever-”

“Tuesday! That's tonight!” she blurted out.

He nodded, grinning. “You know your days of the week, alright. Yeah, we play around 10:30 usually.”

“Oh...” she furrowed her brows, turning away slightly. “I don't know if...”

“Your mom will let you?” he finished for her.

“I- how did...yeah.” She turned back to her locker, looking wounded. “I mean...I can try to ask, but I doubt she would go for it. She's really, um...what she says goes, you know? Like, always.”

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, it's not my place or anything, but there's always going to be people who try and tell you what to do, where to go, how to dress. Parents, boyfriends...at some point, you have to draw a line in the sand. Otherwise, you'll wake up one day and not even know who you are.”

Chrissy's face burned in embarrassment. She wanted to lash out at him, to tell him he didn't know her, didn't know what he was talking about, but somehow he'd pegged her instantaneously. Was she that much of a cliche?

“I'm sorry if that...I didn't mean to upset you.”

“No,” she sighed. “You're not wrong. It's just hard, you know?” She looked up at him, hoping he understood on some level. He didn't seem like the type who'd grown up with parents who made you feel like you needed permission just to breathe.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “If you ever need to, you know, talk, or just get a little late teenage rebellion in, you know who to call.” He winked and pulled at her tight ponytail playfully; she turned towards him, but he was already making his way to his next class before she could react.

–

Their encounter had played in the back of her mind for the rest of the day, making it hard to concentrate on her World History lecture. Eddie Munson had known her name, had invited her to see his band, had pulled her hair like a boy with a crush. It was ridiculous, she tried to tell herself, to think there was anything between them. She had seen him around school for the last few years, generally disrupting the usual proceedings in one way or another. If he wasn't making a loud, impassioned speech about the value of nonconformity in the lunch room, he was riling up one of the teachers and getting sent to the principal for the hundredth time. The most recent had been in their senior health class, where the professor had tried to teach them abstinence per the state guidelines, only for Eddie to pull a condom out of his jacket pocket and blow it up like a balloon.

“Ladies!” he had declared to everyone's stunned silence. “See how much this thing stretches out? If your boyfriend ever says condoms are too small for him, don't believe it!” He'd gotten into some deep trouble for that, she knew, although it was the talk of the girl's room for days afterwards.

“He's such a freak!” one girl in her cheer squad had sneered as she applied foundation.

“I don't know,” Chrissy had said, shrugging. “I think he was trying to help; it's not like just telling us not to have sex is actually teaching us anything. And it was pretty funny.”

The girl had rolled her eyes and stomped off in her dress-code violation heels. “Marry him, then.”

As Chrissy boarded the bus home, she felt oddly invigorated and was determined to bring Eddie's show up when she got home. Maybe if she got lucky, they'd even let her borrow the family car for the night. As soon as she stepped through the door, however, she heard her mother slamming drawers in the kitchen and felt her insides freeze up. Her mother, Laura, had a way of inflicting her various moods on everyone else in the house. She steeled herself and walked to the kitchen, hoping she would get lucky enough to bypass her mother's wrath.

“Hi, mom,” she chirped. “How was work?” Her parents co-owned a law firm in the center of the town, although her mother usually tried to be home in time to make the family dinner.

“Fine, Chrissy,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Rough day, then.

“I, um, mastered that move I was talking about at practice today. You know, the back handspring.”

Her mother was silent for a few moments. “Don't say 'um', Chrissy. It makes you sound ignorant. Remember what I've told you about precision of language. You need to leave a good impression with everyone you meet.”

Chrissy rocked back on her heels, knowing if she said anything in response it would be considered 'talking back'.

“Food smells good, what are we having?”

“We are not having anything. Your father and I are having chili, and you are having half a rice cake. You're still not where you need to be; you promised you'd be at 105 by September, remember?”

Chrissy bit back a protest. All she'd had that day was a slice of grapefruit for breakfast, and a small carton of skim milk for lunch. She'd worked really hard at cheer practice earlier, and she felt ready to eat a horse. She thought of Eddie, of seeing him play guitar in a crowded bar, and stayed silent.

“Is there a problem, dear?”

“No, mother.”

Laura looked at Chrissy full-on for the first time and nearly shrieked in horror. “What are you...who put that whorish makeup on you?”

Chrissy was already at her limit, and her mother's comment felt like a kick to the stomach. “It's not whorish, mom, it's just dark eyeliner. Lots of girls wear it.”

Her mother laughed viciously. “No, no, not in my house. Take it off this instant.”

Chrissy thought again of how she's felt talking to Eddie, how he'd understood immediately the kind of oppressive atmosphere she lived in.

You gotta start somewhere

Chrissy flushed, resisting the urge to stomp her foot like she had when she a young girl. “I don't want to, mom, I like it. People like it.”

“People? Oh, I see now. Some boy made you feel like you were special and pretty and now you want to defy your mother. Well, let me tell you, that's not how things operate here. You will act like an appropriate young lady and not embarrass your parents. We know what's best for you.”

“It's just...fucking eyeliner! Why can't you let me do anything without your approval, when am I supposed to figure out what I like and who I am? I can't live under your thumb forever, I'm not a kid anymore!”

The sound of Laura slapping Chrissy across the face reverberated through their fully refurbished kitchen. Chrissy choked back a sob and turned away.

“I don't know who you think you are, Christine Aurora Cunningham, but you will not use that kind of language in this house,” her mother said curtly. “If you think you know what's best for yourself, then feel free to find your own way in life.” She turned back to the pot of chili on the stove and stirred, clearly through with the conversation. Chrissy stood straight, trying to look taller than she felt.

“I will,” she said simply, striding away quickly. She left the house, slamming the ornate door behind her.

Chrissy had walked for what felt like an eternity before she came across the town's local fast food place. The tacky neon pink and blue sign declaring that the restaurant had both burgers and fries glowed like a beacon, and she was drawn to it like someone who'd been lost in the desert for days. She stood at the counter to order, feeling like she was on the verge of passing out from hunger and stress. A girl with wild, dyed-black hair and a spiked choker stood on the other side of the counter and looked her up and down. “Yeah?” she said simply, indicating that Chrissy should either hurry up and order or get the hell out.

“Oh!” Chrissy said, shaking herself. “Um, sorry, I never eat, like, burgers or anything. What do you...recommend?”

The cashier chuckled a little disdainfully, and her dark lipstick flashed against white teeth. Chrissy twisted her hands around the hem of her skirt and felt like maybe she should forget the whole thing and keep walking.

“Uh, I guess the double cheeseburger is pretty good. It's got mustard and ketchup, you know, the usual. Do you like pickles?”

“Uh...sure?”

“Alright, double cheese it is. You want fries and a coke or what?”

“Oh, gosh no! The burger is more than enough, thanks. Like I said, I never do this.”

The cashier smiled, a little more warmly this time and took in Chrissy's small frame and wide, deep-set eyes.

“Alright, it'll be up in a few. And hey, it's on me. Gotta celebrate the little things, right? Looks like it's the first cheeseburger you've had in ten years.”

Chrissy wasn't sure what to say but, since the cashier was suddenly being nice, she decided to press her luck a little. “Hey, do you know Eddie Munson? Sorry if that's a weird thing to ask, but you kind of look like someone who would know him.”

The girl laughed wryly. “Sure, I know the guy. What about him?”

“This probably sounds strange coming from me, but is he seeing anyone?”

“Hmm, not last I heard, no. Why, are you into him?”

Chrissy twisted her hands together, feeling like a girl at a sleepover gossiping over boys. “I mean, I don't know. I'm going to his show tonight, and I guess I was just curious, that's all. Did you guys ever-”

“Nah, he's not really my type, to be honest.”

“Oh, what's your type?”

“Cheerleaders.” The girl flashed a grin at Chrissy and winked.

“Oh!” Chrissy said, giggling. “That's cool. I mean, I'm not...”

“Yeah, yeah, order's up.” She slid Chrissy her tray of food. “You enjoy that meat now.”

Chrissy blushed furiously and skittered away; the girl at the counter slipped on a pair of headphones and started blaring Metallica loud enough that Chrissy could hear from across the room.

The girl sat, nibbling at the huge burger and contemplating her next move. She only had a few dollars stored in her skirt pocket; it wasn't like she could get that far on her own steam. She had no doubt that if she returned home, her mother would freeze her out for a few days and then go back to acting like nothing had happened between them. There was a part of Chrissy, though, a part she'd been secretly nurturing since the first time her mother had thrown a cruel remark her way, that never wanted to go home again. She was an adult now, and only had a few months left of her senior year before she didn't really need to rely on them anymore. She'd gotten into a few state schools, with Indiana University specifically offering her a full-ride cheerleading scholarship. All she really had to do was make it to August and then she could start the rest of her life.

That was still five months away, though. Was she just supposed to stay inside this Burger Hut until then? The only thing that was clear to her in the moment was that she had to make it to Eddie's show at the Hideout tonight. It had become a symbol for everything in her life that she was never allowed to do, all the missed friendships and daring fashion choices and normal family outings that every other person seemed to take for granted. She had lived with the dirty secret of her mother's dysfunction for so long that it almost seemed to be part of her, but sitting alone in the dingy diner with the smell of fries wafting around her, she felt freer and more normal than she had in a long time. Maybe August wasn't so far away, she thought. Maybe it was time for a real change in her life. She stood up, brushing crumbs off of herself, and placed the empty tray near the garbage can.

“Thank you!” she called out, wondering if the goth girl had heard her over the sound of Nothing Else Matters.

Chrissy continued walking, feeling a chill creep into the air as the sun descended and stars began to peek through the dusky sky. She wasn't sure exactly where the Hideout was, but she knew it was somewhere on the other side of town, the part where a family like the Cunninghams generally had no business going near. She wished she was wearing something besides a skirt, both because of the deep March cold that was making her legs feel numb, and the fact that she was walking through an unfamiliar part of Hawkins alone at night. She continued her hurried pace, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to stay alert to her surroundings.

As she approached what she thought was the right area, the eerie silence made her feel on edge. She felt a muscle in her jaw tighten and realized she must be clenching her teeth, an old anxious habit that she thought she'd gotten a handle on. She blew out a breath slowly through her nose, realizing she was probably working herself up for nothing. She had enough things to deal with as it was, and she resolved to continue on with what confidence she could muster. She approached what seemed to be a guns and ammunition store, and an older man in the parking lot smiled at her in what she hoped was a purely friendly way.

“Evening there, dear. You look a little lost.”

“Uh...just looking for the Hideout. I'm not from around here.”

“The Hideout, eh? Lot of noise they're playing these days. I remember when they played the classics, Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard. You might be a little too young to remember, though. How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-four,” Chrissy lied, trying to stand straight and tall despite her fatigue. She was getting an odd feeling from the man but tried her best to stay calm.

“Hm, you look younger than that, sweetheart, but I guess you kids like that type of music these days. Ah, well, if it's the Hideout you want, you're on the right track. Just go up the road a ways and turn right when you see the liquor store, can't miss it.”

“Thank you,” Chrissy said shortly but politely. “Have a good night, sir.” She turned on her heel and walked briskly away, hoping he was being truthful and not luring her into a bad situation. She thought maybe she was being a little paranoid, and not everyone was out to get her all the time. But she also wasn't naive enough not to see the potential danger she faced in a strange place in the middle of nowhere. She wished her mother had given her insight on how to stay safe in a world where she could be targeted at any time, instead of keeping her locked away in the gilded cage she'd flown. Thankfully, Chrissy saw a grimy-looking sign ahead that said Lou's Liquors and quickened her pace. She turned and saw a nondescript looking building; as she came closer, she saw red flashing signs for Michelob and Budweiser and a banner that said she had finally arrived at the Hideout.

She felt relief flood through her and leaned against one of the support beams on the porch. A couple of scruffy-looking older men sitting at a table stopped their card game to look her up and down and smile. She smiled back at them, feeling much safer now that she was surrounded by lights and noise and the smell of cigarettes. She made her way inside and found a spot at the bar; as she looked around, she was surprised to see a few girls who were about her age drinking lemonade in a booth. They giggled and she overheard a bit of their conversation.

“This bar is fucking nasty, why did you make me come here?”

“You'll see when the band gets here, girl, trust me.”

“The band? Oh my god, grow up. You can't keep doing this groupie shit when you go to school next year.”

“Why not? Bloomington has a ton of local bands, I bet. But this guy is on another level, he's like full-on Van Halen level hotness. Even his name is Eddie. Hawkins' own little rock star,” the girl cooed, sipping her lemonade.

“You're such a loser,” the other girl intoned, stirring the ice in her glass.

Chrissy's eavesdropping was interrupted by the slim female bartender approaching her. “What'll it be, hon?”

“Oh, um...” Chrissy had come this far, farther than she ever thought she could, and decided to take another risk. “Uh...Budweiser, please.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, and Chrissy realized she was still wearing her high school cheerleading uniform. She tried to think of an excuse as to why she had it on but settled on staying silent and trying to look mature. The bartender smirked and poured her a glass. “Alright, but let's stick to just the one. I've had too long of a day to have to take some prom queen to the ER to get her stomach pumped.”

Chrissy flushed and took the glass; it's cool condensation felt oddly soothing to the touch. “Thank you, ma'am.”

“Oh, god, please don't call me ma'am. I'm only twenty-eight.”

“Sorry,” Chrissy said, sipping the beer and wrinkling her nose at the odd taste. After a few more sips, she felt it go to her head and found she didn't mind the taste as much. She pushed the glass, moist with condensation, away so she didn't chug the whole thing out of nervousness. She swung her legs against the aged wood of the bar, watching the minutes tick by on a Busch Light branded clock above the register. She strained to try and hear the rest of the girls' conversation, but they had moved onto other topics like what they were going to wear to prom that year. It seemed she had some competition, after all. She snorted to herself, placing her hand over her mouth. Since when was she vying for the heart of Eddie Munson? They had never spoken outside of a single school assembly during her sophomore year. She had arrived late and hadn't been able to find a seat with anyone she knew, so she settled in next to the group of oddballs who tended to band together. In her lateness that morning, she'd forgotten to grab a pencil from her supplies at home.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning towards the person nearest her. “Sorry, do you have a...pencil?”

Out of the corner of her eye she'd assumed the person with long, dark curls was a girl. To her surprise, she saw it was a boy, with impossibly brown eyes that looked through her, amused.

“My, my, Cunningham, I figured you were the type who'd sooner die than leave home without all your school supplies.”

Chrissy had frowned, feeling like this boy she didn't know, whose gaudy rings and ripped jeans were definitely not in line with the school's dress code, had no business telling her how to live.

“Yeah, my alarm didn't go off, and my mom was yelling...I mean, she was telling me to hurry up and get to school, and I forgot half my stuff. It happens, you know?” She wrapped her arms around herself and clutched her elbows defensively.

“Oh, yeah, happens to the best of us. Not to worry, my lady, you've caught me on the one day of the year where I happen to have a writing utensil.” He shook his hair wildly, and a stubby pencil fell out of the tangled mane. He caught it in midair and brandished it at her, bowing facetiously.

Chrissy scoffed, although she was a little amused at Eddie's antics. It had been a rough morning at home, full of the usual seething vitriol, and the way this boy seemed to approach life with such confidence and verve made her usual anxiety feel a little less heavy.

“I'm Chrissy, by the way. Although I guess you know that somehow?” She posted it as somewhat of a question, wondering how this odd boy knew of her when she'd only transferred into Hawkins High a few months ago.

“Eddie Munson, although people in your little cheerleading squad tend to call me Eddie Munster behind my back. You know, cause I'm such a freak?” He winked at her, grinning widely, and she wasn't quite sure how she was meant to take that.

“Oh, um...I mean, I just came here not that long ago. I'm not really part of the group, I guess, just part of the team. You know, Go Tigers and all that.”

“Yeah, but you will be soon enough. Cute little thing like you. You'll have all those halfwit basketball players eating out of your hand before you know it.”

Chrissy blushed furiously; she thought about saying that he wasn't a freak at all, that he actually looked pretty cool, and that he had made her feel better after her shitty morning. But then the principal started droning on about how marijuana was a gateway drug, and Eddie started cracking jokes with his friends, and she sat quietly, not wanting to be associated with the 'weird kids'. Their mutual silence had stretched across the years, across a thousand days where she'd been the quiet, kind, studious girl destined for greatness, or at least destined to get out of Hawkins, and he'd been the loud, outrageous troublemaker who didn't have much of a future ahead.

Chrissy thought about that conversation as she wiped a jagged pattern in the condensation of her beer glass. Her eyes flicked to the Bud Light clock anxiously. 10:40. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Was the show cancelled or something? Had she really gone through all this only to have to sit here alone, with a beer rapidly growing warm and Elvis Presley playing on the dusty jukebox? Finally she saw activity on the small show stage at the far end of the bar. A group of guys, all probably eighteen or nineteen, started setting up amps and instruments. They looked vaguely familiar, and Chrissy guessed they were part of the board game club Eddie was in. Hell Dungeon or something. She looked at them again out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to be weird; to her dismay, Eddie was nowhere to be seen amongst them.

She beat a frantic pattern against the bar with her fingertips, wishing Elvis would stop droning on about being lonesome tonight (you and me both, Presley). She took a sip of her beer, which had taken on an extra dimension of bitter, cheap flavor now that it had been sitting out for nearly 30 minutes. She closed her eyes, wondering if maybe she should just walk home and beg for forgiveness, when finally, finally, she heard his voice.

“What's up, Hawkins? We are Corroded Coffin and we're here tonight to play some real music. You guys ready to rock?”

There were some murmurs of halfhearted assent from the scattered patrons of the bar, most of whom looked like they hadn't been home in days.

“Woo!” the girl with the lemonade yelled; her friend ducked her head down, whispering at her to shut up.

“Alright,” Eddie said uncertainly, scanning for any other friendly faces. His eyes settled on Chrissy, who turned her barstool to face him fully and gave a little wave. Eddie looked taken aback, but his face broke into a wide grin and he gave a small wave back. The girl with the lemonade turned ostentatiously around to look at Chrissy; after looking her up and down, she turned back to her friend and started whispering. They giggled, and Chrissy was pretty sure she heard the word 'bimbo' amongst their quiet chatter. Her face felt heated, but she resolutely looked ahead towards Eddie and his band.

“You guys might remember this one from your glory days. One, two, three, four!”

The drummer kicked in, beating out a rhythm, then one of the other band members began playing a bright-red electric guitar. Eddie's left foot began to tap in rhythm to the song; tossing his long hair back, he stepped up to the mic in one quick move and began to growl the lyrics.

You show us everything you've got

You keep on dancing and the room gets hot

You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy

The bar began to come alive, with even some of the people who'd probably been drinking for the better part of the day shimmying in their chairs. The girl who'd come for Eddie practically leapt out of her booth and made her way to what passed for a dance floor in front of the stage. Her friend sighed and trailed behind her, but even she seemed to enjoy herself as the song went on. Chrissy, smiling, tapped the rhythm of the song against the bar, although she felt too self-conscious to go up and dance. Eddie was a vision, kicking and shimmying as the energy of the music made it's way through him. Although the lyrics were a little insipid, Eddie had a way of making the constant refrain of 'I wanna rock and roll all night and party every day' unique and full of life each time.

The rest of the band actually wasn't bad either; they played together like a well-oiled machine, and Chrissy guessed they were pretty good for a bunch of guys who were still in high school. She wondered if it was the same Corroded Coffin lineup from the legendary middle school talent show performance. She hadn't been at Hawkins High then, but she'd heard they had played Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit, or most of it at least, until the principal hopped on stage and practically wrestled the microphone away from a scrawny young Eddie. When Chrissy asked why, the girl telling the story just scoffed and said “The song's about drugs, Chris. Like getting high?”

It was just another moment in Chrissy's life where she'd felt stupid and naive, although at the time and she laughed as if it were obvious. She had always felt a bit out of step with the rest of her classmates, too lost in her own head to fit with the bubbly girls around her but too stifled and sheltered to fit in with Eddie's group of friends. She couldn't see herself being into board games or anything like that, but she was definitely starting to see why girls always seemed to fall in love with lead singers. The way Eddie commanded the room was exhilarating, and the way his hands moved up and down the microphone stand as he sang was making her feel a little strange. As the song finished, Eddie caught her gaze and threw her a quick wink. Chrissy's hands clenched around the bottom of her skirt and her mouth was suddenly dry. Not wanting to finish her dusty, room-temperature beer, she ordered a diet coke just to have something to hold onto.

The band quickly dove into a song with a driving bass line that Chrissy hadn't heard before, although she liked it immediately.

Whoa, Black Betty

Bam a lam

Whoa, Black Betty

Bam a lam

Black Betty had a child

Bam a lam

The damn thing gone wild

Bam a lam

The song was chaotic and vibrant and so different than the usual big band standards her dad played in their spacious living room. Chrissy liked those songs just fine, but they tended to blend together into background noise after a while. She couldn't imagine hearing a song like this and not wanting to move along with the fast paced instruments. Eddie moved his narrow hips in time with the song, singing and playing guitar and putting on a performance all at once. The song was over before she knew it, but they quickly moved into a Bob Seger song before the sparse audience had a chance to catch their breath.

“Enjoying it, hon?” the bartender asked, interrupting Chrissy's reverie.

Mm-hm,” Chrissy said, sipping her soda through a tiny, thin straw.

“I know not a whole lot of rock stars come out of Hawkins, Indiana, but if anyone does, it'll be that boy,” she said, gesturing to Eddie, who was crooning about old fashioned rock and roll. “You know he came in here every week for six months asking me to keep his band on retainer? Said I didn't even have to pay him if he could just get a chance to perform with his friends. That's a real artist, you know?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy said dreamily. “I bet he could make a whole stadium of people want to get up and dance.”

“Think he's got his eye on you too, darling. Hasn't looked anywhere else all night.”

Chrissy smiled, watching Eddie dance across the stage as the song reached it's conclusion. There was a smattering of applause from the audience and Eddie bowed graciously.

“Alright, folks, time for a quick intermission. We'll be back to rock your faces off in just a few short minutes.”

The girl at the front made her way towards Eddie as he walked off the stage; he gave her a quick smile and kept walking towards the bar. Panicked, Chrissy tried smoothing out her skirt, wondering if her hair still looked halfway decent. Smiling, he swung his long legs over the nearest barstool and plopped down next to her.

“As I live and breathe, Chrissy Cunningham made it to my show after all.”

“Uh, yeah, you know, it was no big deal. I figured I should do something for myself for once.”

“Damn, girl, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. How did your mom take it?”

“Uh...not well, actually. It doesn't matter, though. You were great up there! I didn't know you were such a good singer.”

“Ah, it's nothing. The sight of my tight jeans and flowing locks have convinced this fine audience of my meager talent. Most of being in a band is about putting on a show, anyways. I could be the greatest singer or guitarist in the world, but if I just stood there not moving I don't think people would give a shit.”

“I think you're right. Not about not being talented, though, because you are. I just mean, I think you could go far with this. Even the bartender thinks so.”

“Aw, Shayna, were you two having girl talk about me?” He leaned his chin on his hand and gave a shit-eating grin to the bartender, who rolled her eyes.

“I didn't say anything that wasn't true, kid. You've got talent and showmanship, and if you took it seriously you could get somewhere.”

Eddie gasped with mock offense. “What makes you think I don't take this seriously? I mean, I washed my goddamn shirt and everything.”

“Well, writing your own songs for one thing. Graduating high school for another.”

“Ok, you got me on the songs thing. But there are plenty of famous musicians who didn't graduate. Like, uh...” He looked to Chrissy for help, shrugging his shoulders.

“Eric Clapton?”

“Eric Clapton!” Eddie shouted, slamming his hand on the bar in triumph.

“Oh, wait, actually, he got kicked out of college, not high school.”

“Close enough!”

“Alright, alright. Honey, tell this boy to quit messing around and finish school. My little brother just graduated and I'm pretty sure he used to eat paint chips.”

Eddie glanced at the clock and bit back a curse. “Gotta get back out there, sorry ladies.” He looked into Chrissy's eyes. “You can stay, right?” Chrissy nodded, feeling her insides churn. He smiled, picking up her small hand and planting a kiss on it. He ran back to the stage and started playing something from AC/DC. Chrissy felt like she knew the song, but couldn't care less about what it was called just then. Her head felt sort of floaty, and she looked at her hand as if it were an alien creature. Holy shit. So she hadn't misread their conversation from earlier. Was he really...interested in her? The two girls who'd been sitting in the booth earlier stomped past her on their way out, throwing her a dirty look. Chrissy couldn't help but feel a little bit of satisfaction as they left.

If you'd asked Chrissy a month ago about what boys she liked, she'd have said that she was more focused on her grades and doing what was expected of her. She hadn't quite understood when all of her friends went boy-crazy as soon as they hit puberty. Now, though, it was like the last five years had caught up with her in one fell swoop. She wasn't sure what had wrought this change in her, what secret yearning had finally been brought to the surface. It was like that single, simple conversation with Eddie had sparked something that she'd kept buried for too long, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting out of her skin. Even if she went back home and made up with everyone, she felt like she wasn't the same person now as she had been this morning. It was funny how things could stay the same for so long, and then shift so dramatically in such a short time.

She watched Eddie on stage, all energy and vitality and pure giddiness. He loved being up there, she could tell. Was there anything in her life that gave her that much satisfaction? Did she even like the things she spent most of her time doing? She felt both proud of and jealous of Eddie, wondering how a person could be so comfortable in their own skin and mind. It was no wonder that she was drawn to him; he seemed to be everything she couldn't be. But what the hell did he see in her? Chrissy didn't have time to ruminate for much longer. The band was kicking into gear for the last song in their set.

“I want to dedicate this song to...someone who's finding their way in the world. And I hope you know that you don't have to do it alone,” Eddie spoke into the microphone before counting down the start of the song.

Little ditty about Jack and Diane

Two American kids growing up in the heartland

Chrissy liked the song, although the chorus always made her feel a little sad. “Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.” Wasn't that the truth? How about a song for someone who never even had a thrill in the first place? Chrissy couldn't get too moody, though; the sight of Eddie grooving along and giving his best Mellencamp impression was too much fun. As the song wrapped up, a few people began making their way towards the bar to close their tabs. It looked like Chrissy and those girls weren't the only people who'd come to see Eddie's band. Eddie bounced towards her, still thrumming with energy from the performance he's just finished.

“Hey, give me a few minutes to pack up all the equipment and stuff, huh? Don't go anywhere.”

Chrissy lifted her soda in agreement and glanced at the clock. Her stomach did a little flip as she saw that it was around a quarter to midnight. Well, if her mother tried to send the police after her, they'd have to come quite a ways to find her here. She glanced around at what remained of the bar patrons; one man in particular gave her a leering smile. She smiled back politely and hoped Eddie wouldn't be too long. Chrissy hadn't actually expected him to want to talk to her after the show; she wondered if the food from earlier was making her look bloated. She played with the loose threads of her skirt nervously and blew out a breath, suddenly wishing she was the kind of person who smoked cigarettes. She was on the verge of asking the bartender for one when Eddie sauntered back in, holding out his arms and grinning.

“So, where are my flowers? Or are you more of a wine girl?”

“Oh, you mean like an after-show gift? Sorry, I didn't bring anything but myself.”

“Well, that's even better.” He slid onto the stool next to her, drawing his legs in close to hers. Leaning his head on his hand, he eyed her appraisingly.

“So how'd we do? Did I stick the landing?”

“Oh yeah, I love John Mellencamp.”

“John Cougar Mellencamp.”

Chrissy laughed. “I don't think that's his real name.”

“Yeah, but he made it his name, you know? That's the thing about life, Chrissy. You don't always need to go with the role you're assigned. If you want your middle name to be Cougar or Tiger or Xanadu, you can just...go by that. You get to choose who you are in this life, and if people don't take you seriously, then fuck em.”

“Hm,” Chrissy said. “This seems like a very pointed segue.”

Eddie chuckled and tipped an imaginary hat when the bartender slid him a cold beer. “You know, I couldn't help but notice you're still in your uniform. Not that I don't think it's cute and all, but I've been turning it around in my head ever since I saw you here. I'm thinking you and your mom got into it about my show or your grades or whatever it was, and you stormed out before you even got a chance to change. Am I close?”

Chrissy had to keep her jaw from dropping. “Jesus, how did- am I really that much of a cliche?”

“No, no, I mean, there's nothing wrong with being a cliche. Look at me, you know? A three-time high school senior with ripped jeans and delusions of musical grandeur who sells weed on the side. And I'm guessing you are trying to find your footing away from your horrible mother for the first time in your life. No offense.”

“None taken. You're right, about everything. She is horrible, and...I don't know, it's like all of a sudden something came over me. I've spent my whole life doing exactly what she wants and she still hates me.”

Eddie took a long pull of his beer and sighed. “I mean, I hear things sometimes. You know how high school gossip is. Someone told me that you transferred out of your last school because your mother didn't approve of the people you hung out with.”

“Yeah, that's right. I had one friend, my best friend Dayna, who my mother completely hated. She wasn't even bad, like she got good grades and did sports and was nice to everyone, she just wasn't completely under anyone's thumb. She was her own person, and I really admired that. She always told me I should stand up for myself, and one day I talked back to my mom when I shouldn't have. She flipped out and cursed out Dayna's mom, and the whole thing was so fucking embarrassing. I was almost glad to leave because everyone saw me as the girl with the psycho mom. I never talked to Dayna after that.” She stirred her tiny soda straw and bit her lip, trying not to get emotional.

“That fucking sucks. But I don't think your mom hates you. Some people are just like that, they feel the need to control everything around them. Unfortunately, that applies to their kids too. They don't see you as a person, just an extension of themselves. It makes it hard for you to know yourself after a while.”

Chrissy cocked an eyebrow at him. “You sure know a lot about me considering we've had maybe one conversion in the last two years.”

“Ok, this is going to sound kind of stupid, but if this music thing doesn't work out, I'm actually pretty interested in psychology. I've read a couple of the books they have in the library, and there's this one about narcissistic parents and how they affect their children's emotional well-being. And, given what I've heard about you, it kind of struck a chord.”

“So am I a case study or something?”

“No, sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, I didn't mean it like that, like you're just some kind of intellectual curiosity. I've...ah shit, this is embarrassing.” Eddie rubbed his neck and looked sheepishly at Chrissy, who scoffed in response.

“Please, we've already spilled all my dirty laundry. Don't think you can get out of being vulnerable now.”

Eddie laughed. “Alright, yeah. I've had a thing for you for a little while, and I kind of asked around to see what your deal was. And I've been hoping for an opportunity to...shit, I don't know, get to know you? Like, not the fake you that everyone else sees. Like the vulnerable, real you. I've just always had the feeling there was something beneath the surface, I guess.”

Chrissy smiled and fought the urge to kick her feet against the barstool in delight. “I've got a thing for you, too. Just seeing you be so comfortable with yourself is really inspiring.”

“Huh. Inspiring is not a word that's usually used to describe me. Usually, it's more along the lines of, 'dirtbag', 'delinquent', and 'waste of taxpayer money'.”

“Don't get too excited, though. I mean, I've never even kissed anyone, so I don't even know about all that. I mean, I know, but I don't know.” Chrissy blushed red and ran her fingertips along the bar, trying not to look Eddie in the eye.

“Never been kissed, huh? Well, we've got time, Cunningham. I'm certainly not going anywhere.”

“You mean tonight or in general?”

“Take your pick.”

“Shayna's right, though. You should finish school and at least try to get of Hawkins. You sound like you'd make a good psychologist. I'm...leaving in August. Got a full ride to Indiana U.”

“No way,” Eddie said, bemused. “See, that's what happens when you pay attention in class instead of finding new and inventive ways of getting sent to the office.”

“I, uh, wasn't planning on going home tonight. Or, ever again, really.”

Eddie turned away from his beer to look at her with concern. “Was it really that bad?”

Chrissy shrugged, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I just...I mean, I don't know if I can make it until August with like, six dollars in my pocket. But I want to stay away for as long as I can. It's not just some teenage rebellion shit, it's...you always hear about bad dads, but no one ever tells you that moms can be just as shitty.”

“Yeah, I've been there, too. Not as bad as yours, but...fuck, Chrissy.”

“I'm sorry if this is too much. I don't mean to bother you with the garbage pile that is my life.”

“No, god, it's...I'm really glad you came tonight. I'm glad you came to me about this. I like you, and I want to help you as much as I can. You've got a fire in you, Chris.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right, tell that to Dayna. I couldn't even stand up for my best friend.”

“You were what, fifteen? And probably terrified of what would happen if you spoke out of turn. I don't know if you know this, but kids aren't supposed to be afraid of their parents. They're supposed to keep you from the bad shit in the world, not add to it. Everything you're feeling now is good. It means you're strong, that you can think for yourself and be your own person. And I'm going to help you, I promise. Let's just take it one step at a time, okay?”

Chrissy nodded, though she hated how Eddie was looking at her with something like pity. She didn't want to be the broken girl, the scared and meek and pathetic girl. She wanted to be brave and full of life like he was. She leaned forward and kissed him, tasting beer and a remnant of something smoky, maybe a cigarette or a joint. She reached up to slide her hands into his luxurious hair, and he cupped her tired face in his hands, running his thumb along her jaw. She hummed into his mouth, feeling finally like all the pain, all the exertion and uncertainty and head-spinning anxiety of the day had been worth something if it led to this. He pulled away first, gently placing his forehead against hers and breathing deeply.

“Do you want to...I mean, it's not much, but do you want to come to my place?”

“Yes please,” Chrissy nodded, hoping she didn't outwardly show the desperation she felt.

“Come on,” he said, sliding off the stool and wrapping their fingers together. They made their way to Eddie's van which was parked behind the bar. As they pulled away, Chrissy leaned her head against the plush passenger seat and closed her eyes, feeling like if home could be a person, it definitely took the form of Eddie Munson.

Eddie's dark van pulled up to his uncle's trailer with a crunch of gravel that cut through the deep quiet of the night. Chrissy glanced around with some trepidation; it was one thing to get into a boy's car, but to willingly go to his home carried a certain connotation in her friend group. She wondered what her parent's country club friends would think of her coming to a place like this in the middle of the night.

“Don't worry,” Eddie teased. “The knife-handed ghouls only come out for the terminally naughty children.” He waggled his fingers at Chrissy in an imitation of Freddy Krueger and she batted him away, laughing. “Please, I couldn't even finish that movie. It was too scary for me.”

“That's because you didn't have me to cuddle close to. And if I can take on the incessant bullying of Hawkins' illustrious basketball team for half a decade, I think I can handle one measly sleep demon.”

Chrissy cringed a little, thinking of all the times she'd heard her fellow cheerleaders and their obnoxious boyfriends use Eddie as a verbal punching bag, either amongst themselves or to his face.

“I'm sorry, Eddie. That really has to suck.”

“Ah, you know, eventually you start to embrace those parts of yourself that don't quite fit with what society wants you to be. And I've got my people, you know, the band and my D&D club. God, imagine me with the in crowd. I'd probably be some little sycophant with cropped hair and a polo shirt following Jason Carver around like a whipped dog.”

“Ew,” Chrissy wrinkled her nose. “I hear he gets these big kegs to get girls drunk at parties. Who would even sell alcohol to that sleazeball?”

Eddie laughed melodically, and Chrissy swore her heart skipped a beat from the way his eyes crinkled up. “Chrissy, you are truly a girl after my own heart.” He locked eyes with her and leaned forward, running his long fingertips along her jawline. She leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. She was truly exhausted, physically and mentally, and wanted nothing more than to burrow into Eddie's embrace and stay there until everything in her life made sense again. She'd been told time and time again that guys only wanted one thing, that they would say and do anything if it meant they got theirs and would leave girls in ruin without a second thought. But Eddie...god, she wanted so badly to put her faith in him, to believe that he wouldn't just use her as a distraction or toy. She'd had crushes, sure, even whole fantasy relationships in her head with Tom Cruise or the cute boy in her civics class. This was different, though. Here she was, actually on the verge of something real, and she had no idea how to proceed. How could she even know that Eddie felt the same?

“Chrissy? Still with me?”

She opened her eyes to see Eddie inches away from her face, looking at her with bemusement. “I think you went somewhere else for a little bit there.”

“I'm sorry, Eddie, I'm just so tired. But I don't want to disappoint you.”

“How could you possibly do that?”

“I've never, um, you know...”

“Had sex?”

“Uh,” Chrissy chuckled, suddenly finding it hard to make eye contact. “Yeah.”

“I kind of figured when you said you'd never kissed anyone. But it's fine, please don't feel like you need to do anything for me to be here for you. I like you, Chrissy.”

She suddenly felt the need to choke back a sob. She put her feet on the car seat and wrapped her arms around her legs; it didn't make sense that anyone would just like her. All her life, Chrissy had felt the need to perform, to maintain a certain standard, to fit a mold. How often had anyone just liked her for who she was and not what she could do for them?

“Hey,” Eddie said softly, wiping her eyes with familiar tenderness. “Come on, it's not that hard to believe, is it?”

Chrissy shook her head, unable to even express the tumult she felt within her. Maybe she would regret all this in the light of day, but she decided to go against her instinctual hesitance and take a leap of faith. She had come so far already, and everything about Eddie seemed welcoming and warm in that moment. She didn't care that he'd just been a face in the crowd before today, or that her parents were probably worried sick. For once, she knew what she wanted with perfect clarity, and there was nothing to stop her from getting it. She launched herself forward, wrapping herself around Eddie's narrow shoulders and burying her face in his neck. He smelled like cigarettes and sweat and god she never thought that could be a comforting scent. He snaked his long arms around her waist and pulled her closer until she was fully in his lap. She bit back a moan, letting her legs fall on each side of him.

“Oh shit, Chris. Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm.” Her hands fluttered through his hair and over his slender neck, and she peppered his stubbled jawline with small kisses.

“Thought you were tired.”

“Suddenly found a reason to stay awake.” She pushed herself against him, feeling the friction build between her legs. “Touch me, please.”

“Okay,” he gasped, taking her mouth in his and pushing his thumbs against her nipples, kneading steadily. She moaned into his wet and open mouth, feeling an unfamiliar sensation build within her. His hands slipped under her shirt and he skirted his fingers along the edge of her bra. “Can I?” he whispered into her ear; she nodded and continued rubbing herself steadily against him. He unclasped her bra and slipped it out from under her shirt, tossing it to the passenger seat. Chrissy gasped as he felt his mouth around her breast, sucking and pulling and biting. The feeling built within her, but she needed more sensation.

“Can I, um, take off my underwear?”

Eddie looked up from her chest and grinned. “Be my guest.”

She stood up as best she could and slid her underwear off with some difficulty; throwing them aside, she resumed her grinding but found the rough denim of Eddie's jeans unpleasant against her bare skin.

“You ok?” Eddie asked, sliding a hand under her skirt and rubbing the inside of her thigh pleasurably.

“Uh...is there anything else we can do?”

“I mean yeah, there's lots we can do. What did you have in mind?”

Chrissy closed her eyes, focusing on the pressure of Eddie's hand beneath her skirt.

“You like that?”

Chrissy nodded, breathing deeply.

Eddie's hand made it's way closer to her wet center, and Chrissy tensed with anticipation. As his callused fingers glided smoothly between her folds, she gasped at the new sensation. Eddie pushed onward, filling her with one, then two fingers.

“Ohh...” she moaned, feeling the heat pool low in her midsection. “That's...good, Eddie.”

“Yeah? Should I keep moving?”

“I think so. Just...go slow. It's really tight. I've never even...you know.”

“Chrissy, you are so fucking beautiful.” Eddie rocked his fingers slowly back and forth, earning a stuttering gasp from the girl. “I like you so much, seeing you like this, you're so fucking gorgeous. I want you to come for me, can you do that?”

“Mm-hm.” Chrissy felt like she was floating above herself as Eddie brought her closer to orgasm. The hours and days and years of stress and fear melted away, and her whole world boiled down to the feeling of Eddie and his deft fingers. She knew she must look a sight, a girl in her cheerleading uniform sans bra and underwear, letting herself get stroked by a long-haired boy who still smelled a little like old beer. She couldn't bring herself to care, however; all that time spent being overly concerned about what people thought had never made her feel anything like this. As the pressure building within her finally tipped her over the edge, she vaguely registered Eddie pressing kisses along her cheeks and chin and mumbling words of praise.

“That's it, baby, I love watching you come. Fuck, you're so good.”

“Mm, Eddie.” A spent Chrissy slid her arms around Eddie's neck and nestled into his chest, sighing peacefully. He wrapped his arms around Chrissy's slight frame and managed to get his van door open while holding onto her. She finally gave into her needling fatigue and let herself be carried through Eddie's front door and into his darkened room. Before slipping into unconsciousness, she felt Eddie's lightly muscled body, firm and warm against her exhausted form. She did what she could to cuddle closer, feeling his wild hair tickling the back of her head.

“Rest easy, Chrissy. I've got you.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

–

The sound of a mourning dove cooing it's familiar song awoke Chrissy at a quarter to seven. She realized it was still fairly dark in the small bedroom as she peered around, still fatigued from her long night. Eddie had draped his long arms around her protectively and it was all she could do to wriggle free. Yawning, Eddie opened one eye and grinned at the sight of her standing over his bed.

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Hi,” Chrissy said, stretching her arms straight up in an attempt to get her blood flowing. “God, I'm still exhausted. How do you stay out so late and still get stuff done?”

“Hm, define 'stuff'. See, I'm not so much with the athletics and the rah-rah and the making teachers like me. I'm more of the sleep in the back of class and hope there aren't any group projects kind of student.”

Chrissy laughed, letting her arms fall around his neck and pressing in towards him. He breathed her in deeply and pressed his hands against her back, making her shiver.

“I wanted to thank you for last night, Eddie. I know I'm not, like, cool or experienced like the girls you usually, um, hang out with.”

“First of all, you wildly overestimate how many girls I 'hang out with'. Like, I can count them on one hand, which is a funny coincidence, because usually it's just me and old lefty here.”

“You're left handed? Me too!”

Eddie pressed his left hand against Chrissy's palm before twining their fingers together. He reached forward to press a kiss to her knuckle. “See, I told you there was something about you I liked. Only the best people are left-handed. It's like a sign that there's something special about them. You think Paul McCartney would have started the greatest band in history if he was a boring right hander? He probably would have gone into finance or something. And Jimi Hendrix? Come on, now.”

“For someone who's interested in psychology, you don't seem to be familiar with the concept of confirmation bias. Like, you want left-handed people to be cool, so you disregard any data that doesn't fit in with your theory and exaggerate the few examples that do fit.”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You're no fun, Cunningham. What's life without a little magical thinking?”

Chrissy shrugged, letting her hands card through Eddie's tousled hair. “I guess I'm used to always acting logically. That probably sounds pretentious or something, but I don't know, I find it comforting.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to Chrissy's mouth, earning a soft moan from the girl.. “You have to admit, it was pretty illogical to walk all night through a rough part of town to see some shitty high school band play Kiss covers for a dozen drunk people.”

“You shouldn't keep selling yourself short, Eddie. You have something that a lot of people want.”

“Yeah, I keep it in a lunchbox under my bed. Ten for a gram.”

“I mean...I don't know, charisma or charm or something. All the reading assignments in the world can't give someone that kind of confidence.”

“Is that why you ran away? Because you found me charming?”

“No, I mean it's not just that. When we talked in the hallway yesterday, I felt like you saw me. Like you understood me somehow, and I just wanted to...I don't know, chase that feeling.”

“Ah, now we're talking.” Eddie continued his trail of kisses down Chrissy's neck and settled on her collarbone. She arched her neck back to let him keep going, and he grinned wickedly. “You came to the right place, my girl. I know all about chasing a feeling against all logical thinking. It's pretty much how I live my life. Because, you know, you and I don't really make sense.”

“Don't we?” Chrissy said breathlessly. Her eyes had sunk closed as Eddie kept kissing along her collar, nudging the fabric of her shirt aside to nibble at her upper chest.

“Not a bit,” Eddie said darkly. His fingers skirted along the hem of her shirt. “Do you, um, want this off?”

“Ah...” Chrissy's eyes flicked towards Eddie's digital clock, and she saw that school started in just under an hour. “Yes, but we should really start getting ready. I mean, I don't even have any clothes to wear.”

“You mean for school? Ah, come on, we can play hooky today. I'll take you down to the music store and show you where I first learned to play.”

“Mm-mm.” Chrissy pulled away despite her body aching for Eddie's continued touch. “One thing at a time. Can't leave home and start skipping school.”

“Alright, alright, you win. Why don't you hop in the shower and I'll find you something to wear. My uncle should still be in bed, he doesn't get home until three most nights.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” She pressed a kiss to the space between his earlobe and jaw, making him chuckle darkly. “I promise, we can do anything you want after school's over.”

“Anything, huh?”

“Within reason, obviously.”

“You and I have very different definitions of reason, Cunningham.”

–

Eddie pulled into his usual parking spot, far from the prying eyes of teachers or goody-two-shoes freshman who would rat him out for the weed smell usually emanating from his vehicle. Chrissy, clad in Eddie's favorite Van Halen shirt and a pair of his ripped dark blue jeans, was drumming a beat on the dashboard.

“You're lucky I like you, Cunningham, otherwise Madonna would never be playing in this here van.”

“Oh please, she's the queen of pop!”

“Yeah, pop, as in popular, as in-”

“Yeah, yeah, contrarian Eddie has to hate anything that plays at the Starcourt Mall, I get it. But come on, at least admit she's a good singer.”

Eddie shrugged noncommittally and pulled a cigarette from the pack in his jeans pocket. “For a blonde.”

“Thought you liked blondes.”

“Only ones who wear my Van Halen shirts.”

“It was either this or Slayer. You should really do more laundry, Munson.”

“Mm, the maid took the week off.” He grinned wolfishly and leaned towards her, catching her mouth in a kiss. Chrissy giggled and leaned into him; a flash of memory from last night's activities went through her mind and she pulled away. Eddie quirked an eyebrow at her and lit his cigarette.

“Sorry, I just don't want to get too...”

“Excited?” Eddie lay his arms languorously over the steering wheel; Chrissy watched the smoke curl up and fill the inside of the van.

“Something like that.”

“You know, for someone who never did any of this before you've taken to it pretty quickly. Not that I, uh, mind.”

“Well...it's not like I never thought about it. It's just different for girls. Me in particular, with how I was raised and everything. It's like when you're a kid you just never question what you're told, but eventually you start to think for yourself and realize not everything is the way people say. Like, with you, everyone I'm friends with says you're kind of, um...”

“Mean and scary?”

“Yeah, I guess, but you're really nice and smart, and you even gave me your favorite shirt.”

“It looks better on you than it ever did on me, trust me. Want to try?” Eddie brandished the cigarette at her.

“Oh gosh, I don't know. Maybe another time.”

“No worries, doll. You and I have plenty of time to get all your teenage rebellion on.”

The fact that Chrissy was leaving Hawkins in a few short months hung between them, unspoken. Chrissy cleared her throat and leaned her head on Eddie's shoulder. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes. “Plenty of time.”

–

Chrissy walked into her Civics class a few minutes late, still smelling like cigarettes. Most of the students turned their eyes towards her as she walked in, and she felt her face grow hot; she'd been hoping to make an inconspicuous entrance. She knew it was probably just some kind of social instinct and it didn't mean everyone was sitting there and judging her, but she vowed to never do the same if the roles were reversed. Only a few minutes after the teacher started going over the results of their most recent quiz, an announcement came over the loudspeaker.

“Christine Cunningham, please go to the principal's office.”

She bit back a groan and stood up, making her way to the door. So much for being inconspicuous.

–

Chrissy opened the door to the principal's office; as expected, her mother stood there looking harried and pale.

“Christine, dear, oh thank goodness you're safe!” Laura swept her into a hug for the benefit of the onlookers in the office; only her nails digging into Chrissy's arms foretold the wrath that was about to unfold as soon as no one else was around. Chrissy really, really wished she had taken Eddie up on his offer to skip school.

“Everything all right, Mrs. Cunningham? You said she didn't come home last night?” The principal, an olive-skinned man called Mr. North, asked. His sharp eyes flicked between the two, looking for any sign of distress.

“Yes, and my goodness, her father and I were so worried. Christine, where on earth did you get to?”

“I, uh, stayed at a friend's last night. Didn't I tell you?”

“No, dear, it must have slipped your mind. As long as you're all right, it's nothing to worry about. Mr. North, do you mind if I take her home for the day? As I said, her father and I had an awful fright when we couldn't reach her.”

Mr. North looked at Chrissy squarely. “That's fine with me if it's fine with Chrissy. I know how much she values her perfect attendance.”

Chrissy knew he was giving her an out, a chance to explain that no, she hadn't just forgotten to mention she was staying at a friend's house. Eddie's voice rang in her mind. Tell on the bitch. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to be honest. Part of her was scared that, if she told the full extent of her home life, something would happen to her parents that could put their own futures at risk. Would her mother be charged with abuse or neglect? What about her father? What would that do to their law careers, to their idyllic home and enviable place in the community? She knew, objectively, that none of that really mattered, that she had a right to speak up about her mistreatment, but her years of being trained to think of her own needs last made it impossible to speak in that crucial moment. She nodded solemnly.

“That's fine, Mr. North. I can spend some time with my parents.” She thought about quietly asking him to pass a message to Eddie, but by then Laura was nearly dragging her out of the office by her elbow.

–

Chrissy's mother continued quickly down the hall, nearly frog marching her daughter towards the parking lot. Chrissy's eyes were cast downward and she could feel hot tears welling; she hoped that since just about everyone was in class by now, no one would see her shameful position. She looked up and saw a younger boy at his locker, maybe a sophomore, with long, dark hair slightly reminiscent of Eddie's, only with more pronounced bangs. She gasped to herself, realizing where she recognized the boy; he was in Eddie's roleplay group along with a gaggle of other underclassmen.

“Mom, wait, I just need to talk to my classmate really quickly.”

Laura scoffed, looking at the boy appraisingly. “This is your classmate?”

The boy, who'd clearly been cutting class to read some kind of game manual, looked up at the two women, startled and confused.

“Yes, please, I'll be two seconds.” Chrissy broke free of her mother's grasp before she could object further and leaned towards the boy. “Hey, are you in that group with Eddie? The, um, hell something.”

“Yeah, it's Hellfire Club. We play this game, Dungeons and-”

“Uh-huh, yeah, listen, I don't have much time. Can you please do me a favor and pass a message to Eddie for me? Can you please tell him that my mom came to pick me up and I'll get away as soon as I can.”

“Are you...okay? I mean, do I need to call the cops or something?” The boy looked between Chrissy and her mother, clearly still bewildered.

“No, I mean, it's fine. Just tell him, ok, please? Tell him I'll see him as soon as I can.”

“Sure, um, what's your name?”

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

“I'm Mike Wheeler.”

“Thanks, Mike. I really owe you one.”

Chrissy went back to her mother, smiling contritely. Her mother grabbed her arm hard and continued marching her forwards. Mike watched them go, all thoughts of his Monster Manual forgotten. Laura pushed her daughter through the doors that led to the parking lot and followed suit, throwing one last disdainful look back at the boy.

“What the fuck?” Mike whispered to himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of an incoming hall monitor; he quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom until they passed by.

–

“God damn it, I can't believe the fucking nerve of that woman.” Eddie sat at the lunch table with an empty tray, his leg jiggling anxiously.

“Yeah man, it was like she was her prisoner, or something. Like she was full-on perp walking her own daughter down the hallway.” Mike shook his head at the odd scene he had witnessed, crushing Doritos into tiny shards with his palm. “I didn't know what to do. I mean, maybe I should have said something or done something, but it all happened so fast, and the woman was like, scary. Like she could probably kick my ass and make it look like an accident.”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face with his hands and looking up at the harsh fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. “You didn't do anything wrong, Wheeler. That woman is a monster of epic proportions. I wouldn't want you mixed up in all this.”

“What is this, Eddie? What is going on with you and Chrissy? Since when do you guys even talk?”

“Since yesterday, pretty much. It's a long story and not mine to tell, really, but she came to my show, we got to talking and, you know, her home situation isn't exactly Leave it to Beaver.”

“The Cunninghams have the biggest house in town, don't they?”

“Yeah, well, apparently domestic abuse knows no class.”

“Jesus, Eddie. What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I can. Honestly, if you'd told me a week ago I'd be ready to go to bat for little miss cheer captain, I'd...ah, hell, who am I kidding? I've liked that girl for-fucking-ever. Never thought she'd get mixed up with the likes of me, though.”

“She's lucky to have you in her corner, you know.”

Eddie huffed a laugh and tousled Mike's hair, earning him a playful shove. “Come on, man, I just got it to look good.”

“Trying to impress your little California girlfriend? Assuming she's a real person and not a figment of your adolescent imagination.”

Mike flipped Eddie off and returned to his lunch.

–

“Where are we going? Home's the other way.”

“Oh good, those hard drugs didn't destroy all your brain cells.”

Chrissy wrapped her arms around herself and tried to sink as far into her seat as she could. “What are you talking about, mom?”

Laura scoffed. “Please, Chrissy, you take off all day and night and come back wearing some kind of degenerate getup reeking of smoke. I know the kind of girl who does that sort of thing and it is not the girl I raised. I have to assume you were under the influence of something to speak to me the way you did yesterday. And believe it or not, I'm prepared to forgive you. Assuming you straighten up and fly right and write an apology letter to me and to your father. He was worried sick last night.”

“Were you?”

Laura's sharp red fingernails dug into the steering wheel, leaving dents in the hard rubber. “Of course I was worried, what kind of mother would I be if I wasn't?”

Chrissy shrugged, looking out the window at the clear blue sky above them. “I don't know, I mean you seem to really hate me. Nothing I ever do is good enough.”

Chrissy's mother seethed, although she seemed to be trying to hold back her anger to some extent. “I just want what's best for you, Christine. We all go through phases when we're young, lord knows I had plenty of idiotic thoughts and feelings. But I grew out of them.”

“Who told you your feelings were stupid?”

Laura jerked the car forward as the light in front of them turned green, making Chrissy's body push uncomfortably against her seatbelt. “That doesn't matter now, dear. Your father and I agreed a long time ago on how we would raise you, and it was more or less the same as how our parents raised us. To be respectful and well-mannered and-”

“To skip meals?”

“I don't - you don't – please, Chrissy, you haven't skipped a meal in years.”

“Two baby carrots is not a meal, mom.”

Laura shook her head in aggravation. “Since when do you talk back to me like this? Who put all these ideas in your head about food and makeup and humiliating your parents by running away like some slut? Did you spend the night with a boy? Is that why you're wearing those ratty, disgusting clothes?”

Chrissy shrugged, feeling bored with her mother's haranguing. She felt a little kernel of satisfaction at this fact; she had been anxious, ashamed, even terrified before during her mother's rants, but never bored. She took it as a small victory.

“So what if I was, mom? I'm eighteen, I really don't need your approval to do anything any more. I didn't even want to come home, honestly.”

“Oh, I see, you're all grown up now. Where are you going to live, darling? With your little druggy boyfriend? How are you going to feed yourself?”

“Honestly, mom, I'm so used to starving myself it won't be that hard. I guess I have to thank you for that, at least.”

“That's enough!” Laura braked hard in the middle of an intersection, causing the cars around her to swerve and honk furiously. Chrissy unbuckled her seat belt and managed to open her passenger side door before her mother could put her hands on her. She started running back the way they'd come, back to school, back to safety, back to Eddie.

She heard her mother scream her name at the top of her lungs and pumped her legs faster, ducking into a nearby gas station. Chrissy ran into the station's bathroom, shutting the door behind her. To her dismay, there was no lock on the door, but she doubted Laura would want to cause a public scene by grabbing her daughter and dragging her out. She gasped, trying to catch her breath and calm herself down. She'd known it was a bad idea to goad her mother, but she honestly couldn't help herself. She had finally gained a modicum of self-esteem and independence, and she couldn't sit there and let herself be beaten back down again. She didn't know if Eddie would let her just move in with him after a day of knowing each other, or if it was even a good idea, but she still found herself wanting it. She knew it was crazy, but she felt safer with him than she ever had with her parents or their friends or even her own cheerleading peers. Eddie was her safe place, her goddamn lighthouse in the darkness, and she'd be damned if she let Laura Cunningham, small and mean and petty Laura, keep her from pursuing something with him.

Chrissy took a deep breath and opened the door, trying not to touch too many surfaces. She began to make her way out of the store, until a gruff voice behind the counter said, “Bathrooms are for customers only.”

She jumped and turned to look at the cashier, who was staring her down with a slight aura of menace. “Oh, um, I'm sorry, I was just...” Chrissy trailed off, certain that this man could care less about her story.

“I guess that makes me a customer then,” she laughed nervously, looking around for the cheapest thing she could purchase. She grabbed a small plastic bag of almonds and handed it to the cashier, who still stared unblinkingly at her.

“You want a bag for this?”

“Um...no? No thanks, I think I'm good.” Chrissy brandished a dollar and two quarters at the man, who took her money with a sweaty palm.

“You can keep the change, thanks.” She quickly grabbed the almonds and nearly ran to the door, before stopping to look at a customer near the beer aisle. They had long, dark, curly hair and were pacing nervously in front of the cooler.

“Munson, you gonna buy something or look 'em to death?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute, brother.”

“Eddie?”

He twirled to see Chrissy standing in front of him, looking like he was a cool drink of water in the Mojave Desert.

“Chrissy? Oh my god, are you all right?” Eddie took her in his arms, pressing her tightly to him and burying his face in the girl's neck. She half-laughed, half-sobbed with relief, hugging him back and breathing him in.

“Yes, I'm okay. My mom, she took me out of school, and we were arguing in the car, and I think she was going to try to hit me again...I just ran, Eddie. I didn't know what else to do.”

Eddie placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “She is never going to get the chance again, Chrissy, I promise. I don't care if I have to keep you at my side every minute of the goddamn day and carry one of those baseball bats with nails in it, but I will not let her fucking get near you again, you hear me?”

Chrissy smiled, nodding. It was now or never, apparently. “Eddie...can I move in with you?”

“Yes, of course you can. If you don't mind sharing a dinky little trailer with two gross dudes.”

“That sounds...fucking awesome.”

Eddie grinned widely and kissed her; their reverie was interrupted by a sharp, sudden voice.

“Christine Cunningham, you get over here right this goddamn minute.”

Chrissy felt like her stomach had been punched; she turned to look at her mother, wild-eyed and shaking with anger. Eddie stepped in front of her protectively and stood straight, trying to look intimidating.

“Mrs. Cunningham, you need to leave. She doesn't ever want to see you again.”

“Well, that's not exactly up to her, is it?”

“Yes it is!” Chrissy nearly shrieked, stepping out from behind Eddie. “Mom, you are a horrible, heartless person who never treated me like I deserved. For eighteen whole years, all you ever did was hurt me and make me feel like it was my fault. Now it's my time to decide who I want to be. And right now, the most important thing is that I don't want you in my life. If you ever try to come near me, I will call the police and tell them you're harassing me. That's not a very good look for your firm, is it, mom? For your own daughter to tell everyone how abusive you are. The least you can do now is leave me the hell alone.”

For the first time that Chrissy had ever seen, her mother genuinely looked stricken and at a loss for words. Part of her wanted to feel a little bit bad for her, but at the same time she felt elated that she had finally said all the things that had been simmering just below the surface for so long.

“Fine, Christine. I won't ever bother you again. Don't expect to hear from your father, either. You're on your own now. I hope it was worth it.” Laura walked away, and Chrissy thought she could see her mother's tear-streaked face through the gas station window. She turned to Eddie, who was looking at her joyously.

“Fuck, Chrissy, that was incredible. I'm so goddamn proud of you.” He held her close as her breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

“What were you doing in here, anyway?” Chrissy asked, her face still muffled against Eddie's chest.

“I was trying to decide if having a beer before confronting your mother was an amazing or awful idea.”

“Awful, I think. Not to mention it's like nine in the morning.”

“I'm glad I have you here to talk me out of my bad ideas.”

“I'm happy to.”

“Promise me you'll call the minute you get to a pay phone, all right?”

“I will, Eddie, I swear. I'll call and tell you all the amazing events that I'm sure will take place during the two-hour bus ride.”

“Hey, two hours is a long time. And who knows what might happen? I've seen some weird shit on Greyhound buses, trust me.”

Chrissy giggled and hugged Eddie for the millionth time that day. The bus to Bloomington was running late according to the latest overhead announcement, but it would pull in any minute, separating the two for the first time in months.

“Have I told you how proud of you I am? I mean, a full ride to IU is...you're going to do great things, Chrissy.”

“Don't.” Chrissy shook her head. “Don't say that like this is the last time you're going to see me. We've talked about it like a hundred times. You'll work at the Hideout for now during the day and play shows at night; now that they're actually paying you you'll have plenty of money.”

“Yeah, but not college money.”

“Well, you don't need to go to college if you don't want to. You can do the music thing or just stick with bartending for now. It's up to you, Eddie.”

He scoffed, pressing his forehead against hers. “Yeah, like you're going to want to come home to a loser who works in a bar and makes minimum wage.”

She took his face in her hands and gently stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “Eddie Munson, I love you no matter what you do, okay? Please get that through your head, because I have to get on this bus in like three minutes, and if I think you're sitting here feeling bad about yourself I'll just defer for a year.”

“Absolutely not, young lady,” he grinned, knowing she was teasing him. “Promise you won't run off with some hot, rich pre-med guy?”

“Nah, they're not my type.”

“Oh really, what's your type?”

“Dorks in denim vests who play Def Leppard loud enough for the whole town to hear.”

“Hm, lucky for me.”

A last-call boarding announcement sounded over the intercom; Eddie picked up her bags and they made their way to the bus. He placed them in the storage space as gingerly as he could, trying to ensure they wouldn't be crushed by any other bags during the ride. Chrissy gave Eddie one final hug, not wanting to let go.

“Hey, you'll be fine out there. Trust me, you're a lot braver than you think. If you can take on the wicked witch of Hawkins, you can take on anything.”

Chrissy sighed, nodding. “Yeah, hopefully that's the hardest thing I'll have to do for a while. I couldn't have done it without you, Eddie.”

“Yeah, you could have, but I'm glad I was here to help. Love you, kid.” Eddie pressed kisses to Chrissy's lips and forehead before she boarded the bus. She gave one last wave to Eddie through the window before the bus screeched to life, pulling away in a cloud of dust. He stood waving for what felt like an embarrassing length of time before lowering his arm. He made his way back to his trusty van and shut the door, feeling like a breakdown was imminent.

Surprisingly, the cloud of anxiety and hurt passed, and he blew it out in a deep breath. He turned on the radio and began tapping his fingers on the wheel to one of his favorite songs.

I looked out this morning and the sun was gone

Turned on some music to start my day

I lost myself in a familiar song

I closed my eyes and I slipped away

Chrissy always said that he had saved her, but she had saved him too. She had shown him there was more to life than detaching and hiding yourself in late nights and smoking too many joints. She had taught him that real love meant smiling and waving as the girl of your dreams rode away to live out her dreams and stand on her own two feet. She was right, of course, she always was. Four years was nothing, and they had the rest of their lives to figure everything out. The world was vast, and they were young and alive, and had nothing to fear anymore. He figured that real love was also believing that their words were true, that it was taking the plunge to trust and faith despite a lifetime of being shown otherwise. He would wait for her, and she would wait for him, and they would be even better for the growth they would have together and apart.

Eddie reached into the back of his van and dug around until he found an empty jar. He procured a black marker from somewhere in his pants pocket and wrote a small phrase on the jar, then placed it carefully on the seat next to him. As Boston continued singing about Marianne walking away, Eddie sang along with his whole heart, hoping he would stay in Chrissy's heart as much as she had nestled her way into his. The jar, emblazoned with “Chrissy's engagement ring” written in Sharpie, glinted merrily in the sun.

#stranger things #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #chrissy x eddie #eddie my beloved

[theherosreturn]

Bradley: Ok, so Ratha doesn’t have much space to move here so he’s on guard duty. Everyone else, split up into groups and let’s look around. Irida, you and your Glaceon can come with me, Joan, and Emir. Oh, and…don’t touch anything but the floor or handrails on the stairs. If you spot the key, point it out first so we can avoid traps.

Irida: O-ok…I’m unsure about his place…

Bradley: I understand. This place looks like it would be a major hangout spot for Voidsent or something.

(With Whank and Gilgamesh forming one group and Mimic and Mr. Drew forming another, everyone went to searching while Ratha stayed at the gate, diligently watching…he may destroy a cabinet that tries to attack him but they would be attacking first. With the first group, Irida had a question to ask since…well, it was bothering her)

Irida, to Bradley: I’m sorry to bother you with this, it’s just…what do you mean by multiverse? Is it something the almighty Sinnoh is responsible for just now?

Bradley: Actually, think of it like this…imagine a version of your home where a number of familiar details are present, but there’s something off, like where some people live being different or someone having a different personality. The changes could be overall minor or overall major, sometimes so drastic that on one end there’s a world where it’s mostly switched around names, while the other end is a world that’s barely recognizable. That is the idea behind the multiverse, each branch a timeline formed from things playing out differently. I could go more in depth but we don’t have the time yet.

(Irida was…confused, but that did make enough sense to her whe-)

Bradley, suddenly: Also, warning ahead of time, I take this “almighty Sinnoh” you speak of is your god. The warning is that I may end defeating, killing even, your god, though if they’re reasonable enough that won’t happen.

Irida: …..(she’s silent. It seems she didn’t expect this mysterious Warrior to just up and say that he’d fight her clan’s god willingly)…are you joking?

Bradley, unfazed while examining a wall with a hole: Nope. Done so many times by now. Heck, not long before I broke my way over to this realm, I fought five more being you’d consider deities.

(At this point, Irida kept silent and was just baffled. Not only did this stranger talk about this “multiverse” thing, but also claims to have defeated gods…she wasn’t even aware that proof would soon come when the analog beast showed up, but for now, a sign of a key would appear soon)

*Mimic and Mr. Drew would soon discover a cabinet with the title of "Sinistar: The search for the Crystal Key"*

Mimic, while calling out for the others: Everyone! I believe we found where this third key is at.

Gilgamesh, after noticing it: They expect us to carry a whole arcade cabinet and use it as a key?

Whank: Either that or we'll have to willingly "play" their little game.

#Multiversal Fusion #Cosmicverse #adventureverse #adventureverse: cosmicverse #Chaos-verse

[luckycl0ve]

knight bucky ☀️🌕 part of an art trade with twitter user @/glitterspitx, the theme of which was 'historical' ⚔️

#Knight Bucky #Bucky #Bucky Barnes #nonbinary bucky #non-binary bucky #marvel #mcu #au #medieval au #weapons #sword #jewellery #armour #tried something a little different for this one and ended up with a joan of arc flavour on this one #Well that's Fine!!!!

[writingtheafterglow]

holland + co. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

here you will find all my holland + co works !!!

✎ tom holland

speechless

You and Tom share your first dance at your wedding | fluff

best kiss

You and Tom win best kiss at the mtv movie awards | fluff

aloha

You're on your annual trip to Hawaii when you run into a certain celebrity | fluff

what the hell...icopter

your partner takes you on a date to a place you would never expect | fluff

rumored breakdown

all the rumors cause you and tom to get into a fight | angst, fluff

joan of arc

you and your band mates write a song and tom takes it personal | fluff

reggaetón lento

it started with a look, and then all of the sudden you came in contact with a popular frat boy | fluff, angst, suggestive, au

enough for you

tom hates that he put you in the spotlight, so he does this... | angst

crushing on the course

tom has a huge crush on y/n y/l/n. what happens when he runs into her in the last place he'd ever expect. | fluff

think about this...

tom hasn't seen his girl in a while but, that all changes when graham norton surprises him on the show. | fluff

what a simp

tom is a simp and his instagram shows it... | fluff, au

touch

after a tiring day at work, both you and tom come home, missing each other's touch. | fluff

✎ peter parker

spider like me

Spiderwoman (Y/N) has a huge crush on her partner Spiderman (Peter). Peter has a crush on the most popular girl in school Y/N Drew. Neither of them know the others identity. | fluff, angst

spidey's girl

spidey's girlfriend finally finds out who's under the mask | fluff

safety net

y/n, the new avenger, somehow found herself in a love triangle | fluff, angst

difficult

y/n and her dad get into a fight. peter is there to comfort her. | angst, fluff

official?

you and peter have a misunderstanding | fluff, au

oops

you do a lyric prank on peter | fluff, au

love sweet love

peter tries, everyday, to show you how much he loves you | fluff, angst, suggestive

you gotta not

you have high standards, can peter meet those standards? | fluff

all the stars

peter plans the perfect date for the two of you | fluff

✎ arvin russell

bad to you

you have a love-hate relationship with the boy you tutor | fluff, angst, suggestive

why don't I?

Arvin helps you out a little with your stage fright. | fluff

✎ series

bad ones

Why do you always fall for the bad ones? The ones who always make you sad? Well that's what you did, and it ended up with heartbreak. The person you thought was the one, didn't think the same. What happens when you write an album about your experience? Could it lead to even more of a problem or maybe a happy ending? | complete

saving dustville

You've had suspicions about your hometown, Dustville, being haunted for years. There's something different this year though, it seems unusual. With the help of your childhood friend, Tom, you uncover some of the towns deepest secrets. Along the way, you start catching feelings for your best friend. What will happen? | complete

under the mistletoe

High school is brutal, especially for Y/N. Everybody in school knew her as the "less-pretty best friend". That, however, was not the case for Tom. The school's most known jock, also Y/N's ex-bestfriend. What happens when Y/N needs his help to get her crush to go out with her? Will he help her? Will someone catch feelings? | hiatus

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